


Late Nights, Ghost Fights

by ThunderstormAtMidnight



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Cannibalism, Constant ghost core AU, Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom as separate entities, Danny with glowing ghost freckles, Danny with ice powers, Dark Danny, Dermatophagia, Eating Disorders, Everlasting trio, F/F, F/M, Failed Experiments, Fluff, Freckle! Danny, Ghost King Danny, Ghost Lair, Ghost werewolf, Ghosts need ectoplasm to stay out of the ghost zone AU, Gore, Hanging, Horror, Horror AUs, I compare Danny to cats a lot, I love to torture Danno, Impulse Control Disorders, Like 1500s AU, Little blob ghosties, M/M, Mindless ghost Danny, Old-timey english, Phantom fumble, Physical Abuse, Pitch Pearl, Public Execution, Reveal Fic, Self-Cannibalism, Some of the tags and ships only come in later chapters okay sorry, Sorry Not Sorry, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Unidentified Flying Ship, Vengeant Babes, Wolf-biting, amethyst ocean, dark themes, ghost hunger, ghost purring, savant par, songfics, trans!Danny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormAtMidnight/pseuds/ThunderstormAtMidnight
Summary: A bunch of Danny Phantom one-shots with some favourite AUs and ideas. A lot of it is horror/gore/angst and not a lot is fluff





	1. Human

**Author's Note:**

> Description: The trio is having a sleepover when Danny wakes up in the middle of the night to an unfortunate surprise (Everlasting Trio if ya squint)  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Slight angst

It was way, way too hot.

Danny rolled over on his bed, groaning as he pushed what was almost a pile of blankets off of him. His room, which was usually a temperature bordering on that of a late-autumn night, was now matching the heat of the outside world. This being the case, Danny was incredibly uncomfortable, sweating and shivering at the same time; the icy chill of his ghost core was clashing with the intense heat surrounding him.

His bed creaked faintly as he pushed himself up from it, making up his mind to go into the lab. Hell, he'd be willing to go into the Ghost Zone at this rate. Anything to get away from the almost painful difference between the summery air and his frosty core. Shivering, the halfa angled his legs carefully over the sleeping body of Sam. Tucker was currently curled up on the other side of the bed, right against the wall, as the two had simply crashed at Danny's after an annoyingly long battle with Skulker. Now all he had to do was get out of bed without waking either of his friends.

The solution came to him, so obvious he could have smacked himself; Danny closed his eyes briefly and floated off the bed to land on the floor delicately. As he settled on the carpet overlaying the linoleum in his bedroom, he looked around him briefly. Nothing on his way to the door to bump into. Good, he could make his way out of his room noiselessly.

Danny padded towards the door, the fluffy socks that he was now thankful that he'd worn to bed making only soft shushing noises on the carpeted floor. If he had to take a guess at the current time, he'd say maybe five in the morning, if the pale grey light filtering in through his window was anything to go by. How odd, though; everything seemed to have silvery outlines and blurred shadows. Danny supposed that it was a trick of the early morning light. Or more likely, he was tired and his vision was still blurry.

As the halfa shuffled into the hall, he saw the open bathroom door from the corner of his eye, then something that was quick to catch his attention.

A flash of vibrant, glowing green. He was sure of it.

Danny whirled on the spot, his socks again making the soft shush shush noise, which only served to mount his tension higher, and he was certain that as soon as his swift turn stopped there would be some ghost standing there, already prepped to do him in-

But there was nothing.

Danny blinked in confusion, freezing so he could listen, and he had the oddest sensation of his ears rotating slightly to catch the noises from the house. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He could hear the slow, even breathing of his friends from the other room, interspersed with soft snores which he presumed were from Tucker. He could even hear the quiet whisper of the wind from outside, and a faint humming of power which seemed to echo through the very bones of the house. He was pretty sure it was coming from the portal. Danny could almost hear the faint pulsing whirr of the portal working. All the way in the basement.

Something seemed wrong to him.

It was the window that caught his eye, and confirmed the feeling that had been creeping through him. That disquiet which was starting to settle not in his heart, but his ghostly core. That feeling solidified as he gazed through the glass pane, eyes wide. Because outside the window, the soft grey light remained, but took on a distinct silvery cast; a silver edge, from the moon.

It was the dead of night.

Danny’s heart seemed to stop in his chest, dread pooling low in his stomach. It was just too bright to be night, (and too hot, some small voice in his head whispered) but he couldn’t deny it based on the moon and the stars twinkling down from the sky above. The halfa’s heart kicked up into overdrive when he couldn’t help but question, what had he seen in the mirror? He knew it hadn’t been a trick of his tired mind, because he’d been jerked fully awake as soon as he’d seen that little shimmer of green in the corner of his eye. With his heart beating hard, hardly able to draw a breath for the tense fear lodged in his throat, Danny turned to face the mirror. And swallowed hard, nervously.

It was him.

As if in a dream, his head spinning now, the teen walked toward the mirror. His eyes glowed an almost fluorescent green, softly highlighting the freckles spattered across his cheeks and the hollows underneath them. What scared Danny was the fact that he hadn’t turned into his ghost half, he could tell, his core hadn’t expanded and he still had the faintest semblance of human warmth, he was still human-

No, even that wasn’t completely right. Danny could see now, as he leaned forward toward the mirror, he wasn’t quite human. Sure, his hair was still black and the freckles on his face didn’t match the fluorescent green of his eyes; but his ears were slightly larger than usual, pointed, and when he bared his teeth in a creepy mimic of a wolf-like snarl, he could see the fangs that most ghosts sported had overtaken his usual dull, human canines. A slightly uncomfortable prickle went down his spine as he watched one ear swivel, picking up the sound of movement from his bedroom. His . . . lair, one might say. A vague, dark form came into view, edged in silver and slightly blurry as it moved. With a faint growl rumbling low in his chest, Danny turned, his spine prickling again. A low, feral-sounding growl tore from his lips as his fingers curled into claws.

“Woah, you just . . . sparked, dude,” Tucker said, muffling a yawn with one hand. “What are you doing up?”

The snarl on Danny’s face froze and faded, leaving him staring at his friend with wide green eyes. The halfa ran his tongue over the fangs he could feel poking into his gums slightly, his luminescent green eyes wide. His stance had been . . . not even defensive, something more. Predatory. He was glad Tucker was too tired to notice, Danny was even scaring himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but a strange jumble of words fell out, sounding smooth but unintelligible. Danny shook his head and shrugged.

Tucker had quirked one eyebrow at him, looking slightly more awake than he had moments before.

“Man, this is weird. What’s up with your eyes?” the darker teen inquired, squinting at Danny through the darkness.

Danny shrugged again, still trying to speak.

“I- I don’t know,” he managed finally, english feeling almost wrong to him, and the words having an almost growling tone to them. “Why . . . why are you up?”

Tucker gave him a slightly odd look, saying, “Can’t you feel it? It’s freezing, dude.”

Danny fell silent, staring past his friend and out the window into the night. He couldn’t feel the apparent chill in the air, but as he put his hands together, he could feel their absolute absence of warmth. What was going on with him? As he clasped his hands together nervously, another prickle ran down his spine. A different sort, one that seemed to run a lukewarm wave through his body. The teen turned to the mirror, watching as green faded from his eyes until they were their normal, clear, sky-blue. It seemed like someone had shoved his head into a bag; everything dulled. He couldn’t hear the humming that had been the sound of the portal, couldn’t see more than maybe a foot in the sudden darkness. He felt Tucker’s hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Danny, let’s just go back to sleep.”

Danny couldn’t stop staring into the mirror. A spark of something green flashed through his eyes, and he turned to his friend, whose hand felt warm, real, alive.

How Danny wished he could be like that, something simpler.

He didn’t even know if he was human anymore.


	2. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Another trio sleepover, from Sam's POV. Sometimes, Danny's ghost half is scarier than any of them would like  
> Rating: T, for some scenes which may be disturbing  
> Genre: Angst/horror

Sam jerked awake suddenly. Her sleep-fogged conscious wasn’t sure why for several seconds, but something buried deep in her subconscious mind was alarmed. Some mostly-repressed instinct was screaming DANGER DANGER DANGER and she couldn’t sleep with it going off like a siren.   
The room was dark. The darkness only added to her unease, the lack of visibility being another almost instinctive fear in the heart of humanity. Trying to crush down this creeping nervousness, Sam closed her eyes for a moment and sat up slowly; the satiny fabric of her sleeping bag slid down her chest to pool in her lap. She could feel Tucker shifting in his sleep beside her, radiating a warmth that she could only just feel. Otherwise, the room seemed very cold. Sam shivered. She knew that she’d turned the heat down a little, because the trio was crashing in her basement for the night, and she wanted to make the experience more comfortable for Danny-  
Danny.  
Sam felt for his sleeping bag beside her, and she knew even before her hand touched it that it would be empty. It was odd, however, because she shouldn’t be feeling so chilled if he wasn’t even close to her . . .   
The goth teen opened her eyes quickly, and she didn’t even need to give them any time to adjust to the darkness because the thing that was wrong became apparent immediately. She could only just make out the vaguest of outlines, but she knew the being crouched in the corner was Danny. Sam could see his eyes, not their usual sky blue even though his hair was black. No, they were a luminescent green which pierced the darkness surrounding him.   
Knowing that it was just Danny there should have reassured Sam, except that something seemed very off about him. It was in his stance, not quite hunched in the corner but crouched, like some predatorial animal. His slender arms were drawn close to his chest, and his wide green eyes looked oh so inhuman. The reason why they looked so wrong came to her in a rush; they were completely pupil-less. Just pools of softly glowing green, which she knew would reflect light glassily like the eyes of an animal and become silver coins.   
Sam felt guilty for being frightened of her friend, but she just . . . couldn’t help it. And Danny was staring at them, right at them. He had been since she’d woken up. Who knew how long he’d been crouched there, staring? She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it at all.  
Slowly, Danny’s eyes moved to stare at the wall, then his gaze drifted back to Sam. In the glow from his irises, his face looked quite alien. The hollows beneath his cheekbones looked more carved, sharper. Sam felt a chill as Danny’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to run over his lips and over incisors which looked razor-sharp. The overly-long canines were highlighted in a greenish glow, making them look even more sinister. Danny looked . . . hungry. Sam would swear on it.  
Swallowing hard, she stood slowly; it wasn’t as if they were completely unprepared for situations like these. They had ectoplasm stored in the walls, in various little hidey-holes, Sam could easily get to one-  
A deep, feral growl almost sent her cowering back to the ground. Sam’s pale eyes darted nervously to Danny’s crouched form, and he seemed to have grown larger somehow. His teeth were now definitely bared, and he had a savage look to him like a big cat ready to attack. Bright green sparks flashed from his fingertips, and Danny’s strangely blank eyes followed Sam’s every movement as she raised her hands defensively. His growling seemed to become lower and more threatening.  
“Hey, now,” the teen said soothingly, taking a tiny step forward. “You’re hungry? . . . I can get something.”   
The rumbling snarl, one that seemed so weird coming from a humanoid being, slowly stopped as Danny tilted his head, eyes still following her. Sam continued walking forward, ever so slowly, until she’d reached the corner of the room opposite Danny. She didn’t want to turn her back on him when he was in this state, but she had to to reach the ectoplasm she’d stored down here. As Sam peeled the wallpaper away from a small hole in the wall, she wondered vaguely if Danny could smell her fear. She thought that she herself could almost smell it, and she again felt guilty. After all, this was one of her best friends that she was frightened of . . . but there was something about him that left her uneasy in this moment.   
Turning away from the hole, Sam stood up and promptly jumped back with a yelp, almost dropping the jar of ectoplasm in her hands. Danny was right behind her, those eerie glowing eyes focused solely on the jar clutched in her hands. He licked his lips again, and she could see thick strings of saliva strung between the fangs in his mouth, making them glint softly. He was so close, almost hovering over her. She hadn’t even heard him move.   
With a shaking hand, she held out the jar of ectoplasm. Sam jumped as he bit the lid, the tin squealing slightly as it twisted out of shape. Danny crumpled it up with his mouth and threw it to the side, one of those long incisors catching a crumpled edge so that he had to shake his head to free it. The movement was so foreign and animal that Sam could barely stifle a gasp, and in the next moment she clapped her hands over her mouth almost involuntarily as Danny threw back his head, gobbling down the ectoplasm in a matter of seconds.   
The halfa simply let the jar drop from his hand and focused his gaze on Sam, the eyes still creepy and pupil-less. Danny stared at her too long for her to be comfortable, with him in this animalistic state she felt unsafe and he was so close. He tilted his head again, his eyes glowing brighter for a second as a fang slipped down over his lower lip. Sam’s heart rate sped up, Danny’s lips parting lightly at the same time, and the goth couldn’t help but wonder in a moment of panic if he hadn’t developed a taste for something warmer, something alive . . . But then the creature in front of her shivered, and in a flash of crystal blue eyes her friend was back.


	3. Keep on Bleedin' Your Fake Blood . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: It would have been a day like any other, except for a sudden change that Danny hadn't expected  
> Rating: T, for mild violence and physical abuse  
> Genre: angst (kinda a songfic)

It was almost an act of sorts, a masquerade the two put on because they were expected to. Dash Baxter and Danny Fenton, A-lister and loser, bully and victim. It was just the natural order of the school, was it not? Like an ecosystem, the strong prey on the weak. Maybe, in the case of Dash and Danny, the weak prey on the strong, and the strong just take it. Because they’re supposed to look weak. Danny already stuck out enough, anyhow, and if people found that the loser who was like a twig could probably snap Dash in half . . . well, the less attention on Danny, the better.   
Today was the usual day, with Danny cornered in the locker room after their gym class. It was mostly empty, and the few people now filtering out gave Danny and Dash a wide berth, not wanting to be the next target of the bully’s aggression. Dash had already landed several solid blows to Danny’s chest and stomach, even one on his cheek. He could see it already blooming into a bruise whenever he passed into sight of a mirror in the locker room. In those brief glances, Danny thought something looked distinctly wrong with the bruise, but he was too caught up in dancing away from the majority of Dash’s punches to get a good look at it.   
That is, until he skidded in a small puddle of water on the tiled floor, stumbling into a sink and catching a glimpse of his face. His first good look at the bruise. It was large and unsightly, dark, so that the oddness of it almost went undetected. But to Danny, it was obvious what was off about it: it was not a discolouration flush with red blood, no. It was quite obviously green rather than the normal crimson. Danny knew what had rushed, from small broken vessels in his face, to form this bruise.  
Ectoplasm.  
At this moment of heart-stopping realization, another blow caught him square in the face, hard enough to knock him away from the mirror and to the floor. The raven-haired teen felt a distinct stinging pain as his lip split open, but fear stabbed his heart as soon as he felt the thick, cold liquid dripping down his chin. It still wasn’t blood. There was no mistaking the viscous, sluggish movement, the chill, and Danny was almost certain that it would be glowing at least a little.  
A large fist closed around the collar of his shirt, dragging him limply to his feet as if he were a ragdoll. Danny’s limbs felt weak with fear. All this time fighting ghosts, almost all of which were certainly more terrifying than the local bully who thinks he’s a tough guy, and this is what renders him almost paralyzed. Dash’s brow furrows as he observes the ectoplasm trickling from Danny’s split lip, his violet-blue eyes glinting faintly green with the glow coming off it. Before Danny can say a word to make an excuse, to explain, anything, he’s thrown harshly to the ground once more. Water splashes up, spattering his clothes and the floor around him. Little drips of gooey ectoplasm are already starting to mix in with it, staining the not-so-pristine white tile floor.   
“You’re a freak, Fenton,” growled Dash, but there was a glint of fear in his eyes, which left Danny feeling cold. “I always knew there was something off about you.”  
Danny watched him warily, swiping his forearm across his chin in an attempt to wipe away the dripping ectoplasm. He only succeeded in smearing his forearm with faintly phosphorescent green. He had no idea when his blood, which had always been so human, had turned to- this. He’d almost taken comfort in the warm crimson that had flowed through his veins before. It was his link to his friends, his family, everyone around him. But now . . . now, he was so distinctly not human. Danny hated it.  
He looked up at Dash, almost pleadingly, and the jock all but ran from the locker room. The steel door slammed behind him. The echoes rang around Danny where he sat on the floor, making him feel even more dazed than before.   
And just like that, his careful walls of deceit came crumbling down around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . 'till no one even sees it
> 
> Had 'Give Up the Grudge' stuck in my head long enough that I wrote something, oops


	4. Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny hasn't been answering his phone. Jazz is acting weird. Danny's phone is in his room, but so is he  
> Rating: T, for some possible disturbing scenes  
> Genre: Horror/angst

The hallway seemed chillier than usual as Sam walked down it. She could’ve sworn that there were ice crystals forming on the carpet fibers as she got closer to Danny’s room, which she knew was the source of the cold seeping through the hallway. The goth teen had called Danny earlier about the study date that they had planned for today, but his phone had rung and rung with no-one answering it. Sam could only assume that the phone was somewhere in the house and not crushed somewhere from one of Danny’s battles with a ghost. Her comfort was that Danny was obviously in his room; it warmed up significantly when he wasn’t actually there. The colder-than-average temperature worried Sam, however; the last time that the air surrounding Danny had gotten this cold was when he’d been badly injured in a fight, and he’d had to intensify his ghost powers to heal himself. Sam could see her breath fogging in front of her, and she shivered, just as much from cold as from fear.  
“I heard his phone ringing,” said a voice from behind Sam. The young teen startled, turning quickly, then relaxing as she saw who it was. Jazz stood several feet behind her in the hallway, just outside of the door to the older Fenton’s room. Sam noticed something different about her immediately. Jazz’s eyes seemed darker, not literally, but clouded with some emotion. Her voice seemed oddly dead. She stood there, not saying anything else, her eyes unfocused.  
Swallowing down the panic rising in her throat, Sam turned back to the door leading into Danny’s room. As she gripped the doorknob, it was so cold under her palm that it seemed to bite her sharply. The teen had to force back a gasp of surprise, cautiously turning the handle and pushing the door open.   
The room beyond was dark, much darker than it should have been for this time of day. It was as if neither sunlight nor the light from the hall could pierce into the lingering shadows. They clung to the room like cobwebs, impossibly darker in the corners and looking ready to swallow up anyone who dared set foot into the heavy darkness. A sigh of absolutely freezing air brushed past Sam, ruffling her hair and skirt slightly as it went, seeming to be the cause of the bone-deep cold that she felt. And it smelled in there, a smell that brought up thoughts of endless frosty winters whose heavy snows hid things. Horrible things whose rotting could not even be contained by the freezing they were enduring. It was a cruel, cold, uncaring smell.  
Sam was ready to slam the door and run when something slid into view. It was a something that moved with an easy, careless grace. The something- Danny, Sam realized, it was Danny- it, he, was like a shadow within shadows. Moving completely soundlessly and fluidly across the room, building a low, feral snarl from its chest as it moved.  
The light from the hallway hit Danny’s eyes somehow, and they were that creepy, pupil-less green they turned sometimes, and they flashed like silvery coins. They reflected the light like an animal’s would if you shone one in their eyes. Sam hated when Danny’s eyes did this; it was when he was least himself, when his ghost half stole his control away from him.   
The eerie, rumbling growl was still emitting from somewhere low in Danny’s chest, and he stalked slowly toward the door. His movements were still like a shadow’s, as if he belonged to the darkness, as if he were supposed to be a creature which skulked in the cover of midnight. His bared ghostly fangs glowed softly in the light from his eyes. Danny didn’t look right, he didn’t look remotely human. He looked like a feral cat, a large feral cat which could kill, and-  
Oh god.   
Sam slammed the door shut, breathing heavily. She felt something hit the door with a soft thump, because her back was pressed against, and she heard a low coughing snarl of frustration. The fluid way that Danny had crouched had just been so animal, and terrifying it was to be in the sight of those luminous, acid green eyes as the creature behind them prepared to leap.  
Danny was not himself.  
Sam met Jazz’s eyes, the goth girl’s lip quivering.  
“He’ll be fine, just . . . just leave him be. For now,” Jazz said, an almost believable stab at confidence and indifference.   
But Sam was watching Jazz’s eyes, and Jazz was watching Sam’s. And they both saw something they each felt and each hated each other and themselves for.  
They were afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh! This was really fun to write. One of my favourite things- a lair AU, and comparing Mindless Ghost!Danny to predatory cats


	5. Death Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Some anniversaries aren't happy, they're dreaded  
> Rating: T, for some scenes which may be disturbing  
> Genre: Horror

Danny woke from a nightmare still writhing in pain and he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong. Instead of the icy chill of his ghost core, it felt like his core had been turned to lava and expanded. Danny could barely hold back a yell of pain as his nails clenched into his palms. It seemed as if his very bones were flaming, he was in agony. In the darkness of his room, the halfa could see sparks dancing across his fingertips, but they weren’t the acid green that he was used to. They were a brilliant orange, so bright and intense that the colour was almost white. And they left his fingers feeling prickly and staticky instead of chilled, as his ghost powers did. Danny gasped softly in agony and fright. His nails had pierced his palms and trickles of a blood-like substance were leaking out, but it was the same orange colour as the sparks flickering across his fingers and it was hot and alarmingly thin. It was almost watery. It felt like burning magma dripping down his palms. It even hissed as it touched the sheets of his bed and Danny was sure that he would find burn marks in the morning. If he even survived to see another morning, that is.   
All the sounds throughout the house were painfully loud all of a sudden. Danny felt like he could hear everything, from some small animal skittering through the walls to the breaths of the rest of his family sighing like the wind. As if it were all right there with him. The sound of someone’s footsteps outside in the hall were like thunder, booming through his eardrums so that the half-ghost had to grind his teeth together to fight back yet another cry of agony.  
Danny’s room had been thrown into sharp relief at the same time that his hearing suddenly heightened; the moonlight streaming through the window was like a searchlight, burning his eyelids and leaving black and white spots on his vision. There wasn’t a shadow that he couldn’t see into. Everything was bright, fiery, lit up as though from within and glittering fiercely even in the scant moonlight.   
All throughout, the agonized teen could hear a thrumming roar which seemed to shake the very foundation of the house, so loud was it. Danny could feel it vibrating in his chest, rattling his bones so that they seemed to seize. He suddenly realized that he was frozen stiff, paralyzed. His muscles were completely tense, and even his state of extreme pain, he realized the source of all this.  
The Ghost Zone portal in the basement. Danny tried to make the connection, why? Why? But his brain seemed to have been blended into mush from the pain and the constant shaking. He felt instinctively that it had something to do with the date, the time, but he couldn’t think what and he couldn’t remember anything.  
Then the door creaked open, the noise seeming to split his head right open, and the fear of discovery clamped into his throat. And he was still there, frozen, a ghost ripe for the taking.  
Paralyzed, he waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU I came up with more or less completely on my own! I'm pretty proud of it :)  
> There's a part two on its way


	6. A Little Ghostie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Just an amusing, fluffy chapter (Tucker/Sam)  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Fluff

The blob-ghost floating by Danny’s ear was whispering to him in Ghost-speak, its words laced with chuckles every now and then. Danny had to take a few seconds to interpret its words. When he wasn’t shifted into his ghost half, he had a bit more trouble understanding the ghost language. But considering the simple words that the small ghosts tended to use, it only took a moment longer for the teen to extract their meaning.  
As the ghost spoke to him, snickering again, Danny followed its crimson gaze with his own sky-blue eyes. The blob-ghost was lightly making fun of Danny’s two best friends, Tucker and Sam, as they said their good-byes before parting for their classes. Tucker had a slightly dopey look on his face as he paused to watch Sam walk away, then he turned to head to his first class of the day and the look disappeared. When Danny walked up to join his friend, the small ghost trailing just behind his head, he could hear that Tucker was humming happily and incredibly off-key.  
Tucker jumped very visibly as Danny patted a hand down onto his darker friend’s shoulder, grinning. The half-ghost could hear the little ectoplasmic blob laughing somewhere behind him as he said, “Word on the street is that you like Sam, eh?”  
Tucker flushed darkly enough that he almost glowed. Looking flustered and defensive, he sputtered, “W-what? Dude, where’d you hear that?”  
Danny laughed, shaking his head slowly.  
“Oh, you know.” He grinned teasingly. “A little ghostie told me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's really short, but I thought you guys deserved a break from angst and horror, heh  
> There's a lot more coming, don't worry  
> Also, do any of you guys have any good knowledge of the Ghost King!Danny AU? I wanna write something funny 'n' sweet for it, but I don't really know the AU well


	7. Scars (Death Day part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Just a lil part two  
> Rating: T  
> Genre: Horror/Angst

Something was off. In fact, she’d even say something was . . . wrong. Jazz had been on her way to the bathroom, shuffling down the hall in her bare feet. It had only been as she was passing Danny’s room that she realized the wrongness it all. Instead of the breath of cold air which always crept out from under Danny’s door, a blast of intense heat almost knocked her backwards. That, and the shock that she felt immediately. Fear gripped her heart in chilly, suffocating hands.   
Something was wrong with Danny.   
Jazz forced herself to walk up to her little brother’s door, pressing her ear against it. She only just hear a sharp, crackling noise, one that she didn’t like the sound of at all, under the unsteady rhythm of obviously laboured breathing. She wasn’t sure whether to hope that the breathing was from her brother, or not. If it was . . . at least he was still breathing.  
Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Jazz pushed the door open. She winced as it creaked, then raised her hands to shield her face as a wave of heat hit her. It was like opening an oven door while it was running. The older teen couldn’t find it in her to step into the room, but it was immediately obvious where her brother was anyway.   
Danny was stooped over on his bed, his eyes squeezed shut and his nails digging into his palms so that blood dripped from them. But . . . no, ‘blood’ wasn’t right. The liquid dripping from the small gouges wasn’t even ectoplasm; it was much too thin, thinner than blood even. Jazz clamped her hand over her mouth. The weird substance was orange, glowing orange. Furthermore, Danny had sparks arcing over him, but it was more than just sparks. Entire bolts of electricity like orange lightning flashed crazily over his arched back, illuminating sweat trails running down his bare back and shoulders.   
“Danny!” Jazz whisper-shouted, urgently, her voice cracking.  
Her little brother looked up.  
The half-ghost’s face was contorted in pain, and his eyes were a fluorescent orange that matched the colour of the dancing sparks and too-thin blood. They were very wide, pupil-less, and terrified. As Jazz watched, Danny’s nose started bleeding, and the watery substance flowing from it was still that sickly orange shade. Danny whimpered in pain, and suddenly his whole body arched as the fiery lightning flashed across the younger teen’s chest.   
All of a sudden, like a switch had been flicked, the heat dispersed as if it had never been there at all. Jazz saw Danny’s eyes flash from the intense orange to their usual ghostly green, then they faded slowly back to blue as Jazz’s younger brother flopped back on his bed limply. His breathing was still ragged and heavy, and Danny seemed to barely have the strength to turn his head toward Jazz as she walked to his side.   
They both simply stared for several moments, Jazz’s expression anguished and worried, Danny’s exhausted. Then the halfa cracked the smallest of bitter smiles, slowly raising his hand to run it along his chest. Tracing something there, Jazz realized. It was a scar, which was not quite just a scar yet. Raised, puffy, raw-looking flesh in a shape like lightning, running across Danny’s chest.  
“Happy Half-Death Day,” Danny rasped, his hand finally falling back to the covers as Jazz’s eyes widened with realization.


	8. What A Cyanide Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: When you're lost, you want to be found; but when you are, it's not always by who you'd want  
> Rating: T, for graphic descriptions of violence  
> Genre: Horror  
> Warnings: Cannibalism, slightly excessive gore

It was late, and it was dark, and Mary was lost.  
She’d been very scared for a long time, because had the forest always been so loud? It was like every tiny noise was amplified, sending danger signals to her ears. The crackling of dried leaves was an enormous snake slithering towards her, jaws open and ready to swallow her whole, and the snapping of branches which had fallen to the ground were the footsteps of a starving wolf with sharp claws, about to leap.  
Mary was crying and she couldn’t stop herself. She also couldn’t really find it in herself to be ashamed, though. Even though she was eight, and she was supposed to be a big girl now, she really wasn’t very big. But the forest, well, the forest around her was big. She was very, very small in comparison, and the foreboding darkness of the forest seemed endless to her. The little girl had to wonder how far she’d come; a hundred steps? A thousand? Mary thought she could go a thousand more, and a thousand more, and she would still not reach the end of the looming trees and dark underbrush. She was ready to give up, but she chided herself any time she got ready to stop. If she kept going, she could keep the monsters behind her.  
The monsters were there, she knew, she could hear them moving through the plant growth with only murmurs of noise. They wanted to scare her, Mary felt like she could hear their thoughts; they wanted the delicate taste of fear to give her flesh a unique tang for when they finally dug into her. Maybe the police would find her, days or weeks or months later, and all she would be was scattered bones. Or maybe the monsters would scarf her bones as well, and they’d never, ever find her. She’d be lost to the forest and the creatures of the night within it.  
Mary froze in fear when she saw a soft glow ahead of her. It was green, and it outlined a figure sitting on the ground, its back slouched and its arms pulled in. Mary thought that this was a weird position for a monster to be in, but it probably wanted to give off a harmless look, to lure her in so that it could have a better chance of attacking her, ripping her apart to gobble her flesh and gnaw her bones. She froze, trying to hold her breath, but panic and fear were battling for the piloting seat within her, and a betraying sob erupted from her throat. Mary closed her eyes and clenched her fists. This is it, she thought, tears running down her face. She tensed, waiting for the pain that would soon erupt, likely in her throat first . . .   
“What are you doing out here?” A voice asked, speaking up from what she assumed was the figure. The voice was masculine, but soft and a little rough, as if the speaker had been crying recently.  
Mary opened her eyes. The figure sitting on the ground was twisted around, though he still sat in the same place. A hood partially obscured his face, but it seemed useless in the darkness, which seeped and swirled into every nook of the forest and its inhabitants.   
The figure seemed to be around a mid-teen age, and he would have looked like any normal teen, with his freckles and the bags under his eyes. Except those dark bruise-like circles were just a little too pronounced to be average, and there was the teen’s eyes. They were what had been producing the acid-green luminescence. Paired with the snow-white hair that just poked out of the black hood, it took Mary only a few shocked seconds before she recognized the figure.  
“Phantom!” she gasped, walking quickly toward him.  
Phantom’s expression turned from one of a concern to an almost frightened grimace, and he turned his head away, wrapping his arms around himself even tighter.  
“Don’t- don’t come any closer.”   
He seemed to have trouble getting the words out. The spectral teen slowly held out one arm, as if to signal for Mary to stop. She noticed that the sleeve was smeared with something that looked like slime, something that glowed the same bright green as Phantom’s eyes. Mary watched as his arm slowly fell again, and he let out a wet cough. The plants in front of him were spattered with small droplets of the phosphorescent ooze.  
Mary took a careful step forward, feeling her lip quiver as Phantom tensed.  
“But . . . but I’m lost,” she whispered. “I need help. And you’re the town’s hero. Can’t you help me?”  
The ghost let out a bitter-sounding laugh, one that seemed to almost grate on Mary’s ears.  
“I ain’t no hero, kid,” Phantom rasped. Mary thought that something about his voice was becoming more pained, and the undertones of it disturbed her. It sounded wet, like the cough, with hints of a sucking noise that sent a cold shiver through her heart.   
“But you are!” Mary insisted, her tone starting to gain strength. “You save the town from the bad ghosts!”  
The teen looked to the side, so that she could just see the luminescence of his eye. It was weird; the light glow coming from his eyes didn’t seem like enough to highlight the edge of his figure, or the ground in front of him, but the light that was being shed didn’t look like any flashlight or lamp.   
Mary continued to slowly approach the so-called town hero, trying to make her footsteps quiet, but she was sure that he knew she was walking toward him anyway. As she reached him, she let out a gasp of horror. A scene of slaughter was layed out before her. Phantom’s mumble of, “I am a bad ghost” was lost in the roaring, tearing fear that was taking over Mary’s mind. Never had she seen so much gore in her life and her young brain could barely process it. The young girl let out small whimpering cries as she stood, frozen to the spot.  
The glow exuding from the front of the teen came from the cavity of his chest and stomach, where long, thick noodle-like objects snaked out from a jagged hole. Some looped around back in, their almost ropy texture glistening in the soft light. They were intestines, Mary realized vaguely, and she wanted to throw up. They were drenched in a viscous blood-like substance that was acid green, and it slid over the coils of innards sluggishly to drip to the ground. There was a pool collecting around Phantom’s legs, so that his black jeans were soaking in fluorescent green, some of which was already caking and drying.   
The scene might have been more manageable for Mary had she not then noticed the slimy liquid smudged around the ghost teen’s mouth, matching that which flowed from the hole in his abdomen. His hands were also covered in the liquid, and they moved restlessly over the ropy guts that were spilled out over the forest floor. Phantom was panting lightly. Mary covered her mouth with her hand to hold in a scream that she feared would spill over into painful vomiting if she let it go. As it was, her chest was heaving and there was a sour taste in the back of her throat, pairing terribly with the roiling of her stomach.   
Mary could only watch with impossibly wide eyes as the specter seated in front of her raised a hand to his mouth and ripped at it ferociously, letting out groans of pain and misery all the while. He tore long strips of flesh and swallowed them rapidly with little chewing. The thick, oozing green substance splattered his face and what was left of the front of his hoodie as Phantom violently chewed the skin off his hand for several moments. It was only after the meaty pad of his thumb had been reduced to little more than bone, which showed up like a faint and accidental exposure against the glowing green flesh and muscle, that the teen ghost leaned forward and threw up. He heaved and heaved, his body forcefully expelling all that he’d consumed in sluggish drips of stomach acid and the luminescent goop, the occasional chunk of liquidy flesh dropping to the forest floor with a splat.   
Mary stumbled backwards, her terror and shock finally releasing her enough that she could move. As she fell back onto her butt, scraping her palms on a tough root, she saw Phantom curl up on himself. The occasional hiccup drifted its way to her ears, and with each one she saw a flash of green as the teen threw up. It just didn’t stop, it was the horror of horrors, how much had he eaten?   
Among all the gore from the terrifying scene before her, Mary felt her heart break a little as the specter hunch into himself tightly, and wrenching sobs floated through the still night.   
As selfish as the thought might have been, Mary tried to reason awkwardly with herself, trying to help herself deal with the situation; if Phantom could help the town, he needed to help himself now. There was nothing she could do, she tried to convince herself.  
Standing up, Mary walked the other way through the undergrowth. Her throat was still making little heaving coughs, and she couldn’t help herself when she leaned over and threw up. She swallowed heavily, over and over, as she kept walking. The thick, sour taste of vomit clung to the back of her throat, and she almost threw up again a whisper in the back of her mind reminded her of ropy coils of intestines and blood that wasn’t blood.   
Mary stumbled forward as the night went on and on. She was just another lost soul in the forest, another who would have to help herself this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stephen King inspires me tbh


	9. Don't Mind Us . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: A prologue-type thing to that werewolf AU  
> Rating: T, for slightly graphic scenes of violence  
> Genre: Horror  
> Warnings: what might be taken as cannibalism, mild gore
> 
> *Not* connected to 'What a Cyanide Surprise', although both are kinda-songfics based off the same song

The castle’s dungeon was dark, save for a soft glow in one corner. It was a lonely ghost, bound to haunt the abandoned place. She sat on a table which was likely not the cleanest, her legs dangling down from it and crossed primly at the ankles, a long and full-skirted dress hanging down around her calves. Her skin had a greenish-white tint to it, and her eyes were red. Her whole body glowed in the near-darkness.  
The ghost was humming softly under her breath, her eyes closed, a small smile on her face. She didn’t notice as the rotting wooden door swung open with only a whisper of noise, a dark form slinking in. It was only at the sound of heavy panting and the light clinking of claws that she opened her eyes and looked up.   
The creature stalking toward her was a werewolf, its patchy fur white as snow and its eyes a luminescent acid green. The werewolf was skinny but obviously strong; muscles rippled under its thin fur as it approached her, jaws open to bare yellowed fangs. Saliva, which glowed faintly as the creature’s eyes did, dripped from its open mouth and splatted to the floor thickly. It raised itself up to its full height and flexed long, black claws.  
The ghost woman cringed back, tears of fright forming in the corners of her eyes.  
“If thou dost have any mercy in thy wretched heart, I beg! I beg of thee to spare mine fate some mercy!” She cried out, trembling.  
The werewolf was completely unresponsive, as if it had not heard the woman at all. A low growl rumbled from deep in its chest, seeming to charge the air around it to create a web of terror. The ghost woman was frozen as the werewolf lunged, stretching its jaws open to clamp around the throat of the terrified specter in front of it. She let out a strangled, gurgling scream as ectoplasm flooded her windpipe. The werewolf lapped at it and drops of the thick green substance flew away to splatter the walls and floor of the dungeon.  
The woman could soon not make a noise except for rasping, bubbling sounds that were not quite sobs. The werewolf tore into her stomach with its long claws, gobbling long strips of her intestines with soft slurping noises. Bones broke between the werewolf’s strong jaws with sharp snaps and crunches, and from time to time it would shake its head to tear free a tough bit of flesh. The area around the scene of the grisly act was splattered with the luminous green substance that ghosts bleed, dripping down the walls much more thickly than human blood. The ghost woman’s cries of fear and pain faded shortly before the werewolf turned from the massacred body, satiated. What it had left behind was little more than a shell with remnants of ectoplasm and bone shards pooling inside.  
Fluorescent ectoplasm dribbled from the werewolf’s jaws and stained its fur. It licked its muzzle as it ran from the dungeon on all fours, panting heavily still. Drops of sweat, saliva and ectoplasm marked its trail for several feet as it ran through the fading darkness, finally collapsing on the doorstep of one specific house, a human again as the sun bled its rays down upon the poor creature.


	10. Constellations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions: A lil drabble with some Kwan/Danny  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Fluff
> 
> I thought you guys deserved a cute little one-shot to make up for all the ones which are going to hurt you deeply :)  
> Anyway, my computer is being used by my stepdad right now, so I'm using an old one which I don't have all my writing on . . . there are part twos for 'Lair' and 'Don't Mind Us . . . ' but I won't be able to get them up until I get my computer back, sorry

Kwan watched the gentle rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest as he slept. His lips were parted slightly in even breathing, lightly ruffling the snow-white strands that fell into his face. Danny had transformed randomly into Phantom as he’d slept, and of course the sudden change in temperature had not gone unnoticed by Kwan. He was pretty sure it had been what had woken him up, in fact.  
He didn’t really mind the fact that he’d been woken up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was at least a little creepy to be watching his boyfriend sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Kwan was too involved in tracing glittering constellations in the softly luminescent freckles dusted across Danny’s face, lingering on the way that the other man’s hair shone as silvery as the stars in the pale moonlight that drifted through the window. He thought that if humans were made of the universe, Danny was truly proof of that; Kwan could reminisce for long moments on the way that his boyfriend’s eyes were swirled with vibrant colour, powerful and beautiful as those clouds that are the birthplace of stars, and shining with just as much light even though that light could be just as frosty.  
Danny was the galaxy that people admired from afar, at awe with the shimmering colours and dots of glittering stars, but few would get close enough to feel the cosmic opposites. Like two people in one body, and Kwan thought that as Danny got older he and Phantom became more and more different. Phantom was truly a being of the universe, everything about him frosty or cool. Danny’s ghost half seemed rather detached in the beginning, and he was still much more closed off than Danny was, but if the two halves of Kwan’s boyfriend were really different people it was obvious they both cared.  
But where Phantom was all suave and chilly smirks, stolen kisses in back alleyways, heroism and stares from far off, all mingled with fear and frozen blood; Danny was warm blushes and soft laughter, sunny afternoons in fall curled up under a blanket, hot drinks and drowsy cuddles. They were almost like sun and moon. Kwan guessed that it was fitting to have Phantom asleep beside him in the dead of night, moonlight making his hair glow softly and giving him an almost unearthly appearance, like that of a little-known deity slowly gaining peaceful reign. Kwan could imagine those phosphorescent green eyes blinking open drowsily, and he would look deep into their nebulous, star-studded depths and see something deeper than the galaxies that danced there. It would be a cold depth, like falling into the very bottom-most currents of a river. If that river carried stars through its current and allowed those it pulled down to drift through breathtakingly brilliant colours.  
Danny had warmth in his eyes, like that of a cloudless sky in the summer, where the day would stretch on and on so that later you would only have a vague memory of it, like bonfires flickering in the darkness, or laying in cool grass, or laughter fueled by that certain type of high attained by sleepiness and lazy days. His freckles were dark, like night-blooming flowers whose petals drifted in the wind. His smiles were cautious, shy, and he simply exuded warmth like a fiery star. Danny’s smile had all the softness of first romances and young loves, captured in the young adult to never die out.  
The room was briefly illuminated in a flash of green light as Phantom turned back into Danny, and warmth crept slowly back into the sheets. Kwan smiled softly, wrapping his arms gently around his boyfriend and pulling the blue-eyed man into his chest, careful not to wake him. Danny stirred in his arms, murmuring something with a slur in his voice. Kwan softly kissed Danny’s forehead and settled into the bed, his breathing slowing down to match pace with his boyfriend’s as he fell asleep.


	11. Take it Back ('Lair' Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: So many years later, regret is still the same  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Light angst I guess
> 
> I actually love posting on here for you guys, so I'm giving you this a little earlier than I might have

Savannah pushed open the door to the house.  
Her mother and father had told her about this old building, but they’d warned her to steer clear of it. Somehow, though, Savannah felt that she had to do something after learning the history of it.  
The door creaked loudly on rusty hinges as it swung inwards. The sound didn’t add any creepiness to the atmosphere; in fact, the drawn-out noise was almost a wail, and Savannah thought it sounded despairing. Sad. Like the regretful cry of a being which knows it has done something bad, and is to be pitied rather than feared.  
Savannah’s parents had told her that the inside of the house would be full of dark, clumping shadows which couldn’t be pierced by the light. Instead, the inside of the seemingly abandoned building was a murky, pale grey like early dawn. Before stepping inside, as she felt she’d have to, the young girl looked straight up. A large, burnt-out sign hung above her head, swaying slightly in the wind. The many window panes looked dark from the outside, as if someone had tacked black curtains over them. The house was a little eerie, sure, but mostly it just seemed sad.  
The sign overhead groaned in the wind as Savannah stepped into the house, the  
soft tap tap made by her shoes echoing slightly. Small puffs from the thick coating of dust on the floor swirled up around her ankles. Savannah was looking around the low-lit house, but it just seemed like any other old, abandoned building. The house itself was in surprisingly good condition, on the inside at least. The paint on the walls was almost pristine, and the wooden floor looked smooth and whole under her feet.  
The curly-haired girl stopped a few feet from the door. Based on what her mother and father told her, this house still had an inhabitant, and she didn’t want to trespass.  
“Hello?” Savannah called out softly, her voice bouncing back to her with a somewhat tinny edge.  
A minute or two went by with absolutely no answer. There was no sound of stirring from within the house, nor was there any vocal answer (though Savannah hadn’t really expected one). Disappointed, she turned to the door. Her parents’ old friend who had taken over this house years and years ago must have left already. It made sense; after all, she’d been told that the house would be as cold as mid-winter, but the chill in the house was normal for this sort of day-  
“What are you doing in here?”  
The quiet, rasping voice from behind Savannah made her jump. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. Twirling around on her heel swiftly, the girl turned to face the man who’d spoken.  
Even though the man looked old and worn and weary, she knew who he was immediately. In some ways, his appearance had not changed at all, and the chill that he exuded was the other unmistakable identifier. Not to mention, her mother and father had shown her hundreds of photos of them with this man standing several feet in front of her.  
“Danny Fenton,” Savannah whispered, looking up to meet the man’s eyes.  
Danny was the same age as her parents, but his tired appearance made him look much older, not to mention the shock of long white hair he’d pulled back in a low ponytail. His eyes were a softly phosphorescent green, which threw his cheekbones and the hollows underneath into sharp relief. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, and Savannah wondered at this- could ghosts be tired? She wasn’t sure.  
The man had cracked the tiniest of weary smiles as Savannah said his name, but then he turned his back on her and Savannah was pretty sure that he was floating. No wonder she hadn’t heard him approach.  
“You really should leave,” Danny said softly, obviously making an effort to sound emotionless or indifferent, but his voice cracked almost imperceptively.  
Savannah paused for a moment, unsure of what to say.  
“They miss you,” she blurted suddenly. When Danny turned to face her slowly, she wondered if she hadn’t said the wrong thing. His eyes looked watery, but there was something like despairing anger in them.  
“They have right to,” the half-ghost said bitterly. “Their friend Danny is gone.”  
And Danny fell suddenly to the ground, slumping with his forehead against the wall. Savannah could hear the soft plip plip plip of tears hitting the ground, she could even see dust motes swirling up in tiny rays of sunshine that somehow managed to pierce the gloom in the house.  
“It’s been too long,” Danny whispered hoarsely. “If I could take it back . . . maybe your parents would have their best friend still.”  
There was a pause. Savannah heard something like a muffled sob, almost like a cough.  
“Go back to them,” Danny choked out. Savannah saw him pulling at his hair, whether the gesture was one of frustration, anger, grief, she wasn’t sure.  
The young girl turned her gaze to the door. It was starting to get late now; her parents would be worrying about her. If they already knew what it was like to lose a friend, she was sure they’d panic over their daughter who’d been gone for a few hours, now. Her heart a little heavy, Savannah made her decision.  
The thick covering of dust on the floor flew up around her like a storm as she sat down heavily beside Danny and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The half-ghost stiffened in surprise, but it was only for a second. The dust they’d disturbed settled around them slowly as Danny’s sobs subsided and the sun set outside.  
It was the sound of loud footsteps outside that made Savannah look up into the doorway, which the door was still opened away from. She gulped as she saw her parents standing in the doorway. Their faces were much more worried than they were angry, but she knew that she’d be in so much trouble later.  
Savannah watched the expressions of her mother and father go from being anxious to relieved to shocked in a matter of a few seconds. They glanced at each other and stepped into the house cautiously as their childhood friend, who they hadn’t seen for years, stood and faced them. There were several long, tense minutes of silence, filled only by shaky breathing.  
Danny’s hair flashed from the snow-white it had been the entire time to a dark raven black, and the house which had been full of impenetrable gloom was suddenly filled up with the last dying beams of the brilliant reddish sun, spotlighting a tearful reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm lookin at those 14 kudos and wow! It might not seem like a lot but it makes me so happy you guys ahh  
> Thanks so much, i'm glad you guys liked this, y'all really make me smile!


	12. . . . We're Just Spillin' Our Guts ('Don't Mind Us . . .' Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Part two of the werewolf AU  
> Rating: T, for some scenes which might be disturbing  
> Genre: Angst, a lil bit of horror  
> Warnings: Danny gets beaten up a bit, a public hanging

Samantha Fenton was worried about her husband.  
She knew that he stayed out all night, returning only at the crack of dawn, but she also knew that he was not seeing other woman and he wasn’t drinking.  
Sam knew that it was something horrible, however; each morning when Danny would come back, she’d stroke his hair lovingly as he retched into the sink, often vomiting up chunks of odd, gooey flesh and some liquid thicker than blood and acid green. Then he’d stumble off to bed, exhausted. When he came home, his clothes would always be ripped and stained with dirt and flecks of the same acid-green substance. Danny constantly had dark bruise-like circles under his eyes. She felt that she’d rather not know what he did each night, but in her nature she was an inquisitive woman. They said that curiosity killed the cat, but did satisfaction not bring it back? How harmful could the answer really be, after all?  
It was one evening, only an hour or two before dusk, that Sam managed to corner her husband. Crossing her arms over her chest, she sent a stern look at Danny.  
“Wherefore dost thou goeth come nightfall?” She demanded, tapping her foot on the floor as she waited for an answer.  
Danny said not a word for a long stretch of time, averting his gaze away from his wife and to the floor. Finally, he sighed heavily and looked up at Sam. His eyes were now a phosphorescent green, which would have been much more scary had they not also been filled with tears. Danny stood smoothly as Sam gasped in shock, taking her hand lightly in his own. Sam noticed that his nails seemed much longer and sharper than usual.  
“Samantha . . .” Danny began, pausing to lick his lips. The gesture was a nervous one, but it sent a nervous chill down Sam’s spine.  
“Thou hast been a fine, fine wife to mineself. I do believe that I have come to care for thee greatly, and so I doth hope that thou will not run to the constabulary with this information that I shalt bestow upon thee.”  
The man who had been Sam’s husband for five years pulled back his hand from hers, instead folding them in front of him as if resisting some anxious tick.  
“The secret to those nightly activities of mine . . . I beg, Samantha, fine friend and wife of mine, fear not . . . I am a werewolf.”  
Danny jerked suddenly, as if remembering something, and he cast a panicked look out the window. The sun was almost set.  
Danny looked pained, hunched over as he ran toward the door, whispering to Sam as he passed.  
“Oh, Samantha, I do beg of thee . . . I am but an implorable creature, but I beg for mercy from thee.”  
With those parting words, Danny ran out the door as quickly as he could, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the room. She shut the door quietly, and turned to the window overlooking the large back of their estate. There was not much to see in the near-darkness, but she just needed somewhere to think that wouldn’t disturb her.  
It was odd for a werewolf, but there had been no murders in the small town that spoke of a werewolf’s doing. Sam wondered, briefly, if Danny had been telling the truth, but from those luminous green eyes, there was not much else that would fit. She knew that she cared greatly for her husband, if not loved him, although their marriage had been arranged for money. With the fact that there had been no murders, Sam knew that she could never give her husband up to the constabulary.  
Nodding, glad that she’d come to a decision she could deal with, Sam turned to head to her bedroom and ready herself to sleep. The long, full dress that she wore swished around her ankles as she walked, her tight boots and heavily-styled updo making her feet hurt and giving her a headache.  
She had been settled in her bed and sleeping for several hours when a knock came at her door, waking her from her slumber. She thought briefly that it might be Danny, but he’d never knocked before. He simply walked in. After all, it was his house.  
“Please allow us entrance into thy dwelling! Tis the constabulary!” Came a shout from the front door, as another round of knocking prompted Sam to climb out of bed. Wrapping a mink-fur wrap around her shoulders, she went to open the door.  
Three men stood there, looking grim. Sam felt panic tug at her heart as she asked, “What hath happened? Is mine husband injured? Dead?”  
The constabulary officers shook their heads, frowning lightly.  
“No, Lady Fenton. Might there be a reason for thy panic?” the officer closest to the door inquired.  
Sam floundered for a moment as her mind came up blank, but she managed to compose herself in well enough time to respond.  
“So there is, for mine husband has left to the dwelling of a friend. Tis rather a far distance,” she said, then stepped back from the door and held it open for the officers. “I do offer thee entrance into mine abode, fair gentleman, for tis a cold night, is it not?”  
The constabulary officers thanked her graciously as they entered, walking into the house to stand with their backs to the large window overlooking the back of the estate. They did not relax at all, and they seemed rather unwilling to sit or settle, even at Sam’s insistence.  
“If tis not a matter of mine husband, may I inquire why thou hath come knocking at this midnight hour?” Sam asked, standing primly a few feet in front of the officers. They shifted on the spot, sending glances the way of each other, looking slightly uncomfortable.  
“We hath no will to accuse thee, Lady Fenton, after thou hath allowed us into thy fine dwelling. Perhaps, I should allow mineself to be clearer; we mean not to accuse thine husband,” the officer who had spoken before said slowly, watching Sam carefully. “However, ma’am, we have reason to believe thine husband hath been engaged in strange night-time . . . behaviours.”  
“Behaviours of what sort, pray tell?” Sam asked, trying her best to arrange her features into an innocent curiosity.  
“Ma’am, I do hope thou do not take offense. We have reason to believe thine husband . . . is a werewolf.”  
Sam let her face harden, as it naturally did anyway at such an accusation. Though it was true, she knew that her husband wasn’t hurting anyone, and she found the constabulary to be meddling fools.  
“No, he has been here with mineself most nights. If he has not been here, then he has been with a friend,” she declared, her voice tight and almost quivering with anger. “Trust in me, fair gentleman, I hath proof of these claims. If you must, make an inquiry of Lord Foley; he shall speak to you of mine husband’s night-time activities. If there are any at all.”  
The officers hesitated a moment, then nodded with tips of their hats towards her.  
“I do beg pardon, Lady Fenton, for this intrusion,” the leading officer said smoothly, before walking toward the front door with the other officers trailing behind. Sam smiled coolly, following them to the door.  
“You are pardoned, I should think. After all, tis only thine work.”  
Sam believed that she would be able to pull this off, if she could talk to Lord Foley before the constabulary did. She doubted that they would go tonight, if at all. She and her husband were rather influential in the small village, and if word got out that the officers were making wild accusations, well . . . it wouldn’t look good for them.  
It was at that moment that Danny burst through the door, his clothing stained and torn as usual, his eyes their normal blue but with a wild look. Sam could only stand for a moment, frozen in shock, before the brightening dawn light spurred her into action. She ran to her husband, pulling her mink-fur wrap around his shoulders.  
“Oh, Daniel, t’was it the highwaymen that left thee in such a condition?”  
Danny was gagging and shuddering. Sam knew that she’d have to shepherd him to the bathroom quickly before the constabulary could get a good look at his condition. But as Sam started to push him toward the bathroom, Danny shook his head and tried to shove her away from him. She held strong, clamping her hands onto his thin shoulders through the fur wrap.  
“Hath thee fallen ill, then? Oh, a horrible sickness is the case! Thou looketh like death. Come, fine husband of mine.”  
Sam worried that she’d overdone the part, but as Danny clamped a hand over his mouth, she knew she didn’t have time to try and fix it. She lead her husband to the bathroom, where he threw up into the sink over and over, his body heaving as it forced him to expel fluorescent green chunks and slime watered down by stomach acid. Sam was desperately trying to clean it up before the officers could get into the bathroom, but she thought that the lead officer had seen just a little of the green ooze being swept into the drain. He set onto Danny immediately.  
“Where hast thou been this night?” The officer questioned sharply.  
Danny looked up at him, his face and expression immensely tired.  
“I had much to think about, I had gone for a stroll by mineself,” he responded, looking at Sam uneasily when the officer raised his brows.  
Sam tried her best to twist her expression of horror into one of light accusation.  
“Thou told me that thou had been visiting a friend of thine!” Sam said to him, putting the slightest hint of anger into her voice. She hoped it would be enough to fool the constabulary, and that Danny would catch on.  
He did not, but the officer didn’t believe it anyway.  
“Seize him!” he cried, just as Sam yelled, “Daniel! Begone! Quickly!”  
She ran right at the constabulary officers, hoping to confuse them and give them reason to pause. Without hesitation, Danny ran from the bathroom and out the front door, which was open and swaying slightly in an early-morning breeze.  
The constabulary watched him go, then turned to Sam.  
“Lady Fenton, thou hast broken the law; thine husband is now a fugitive, therefore thou hast aided him in escaping. Thou art under arrest.”  
Sam didn’t fight it, letting them take her under arrest. She was given a sentence, but a short one; after all, her influence was great over the land. She was known as kind and fair, and the people revolted against her arrest. Her spirits were crushed by all of the events, but mostly by Danny’s disappearance. It didn’t help at all when she was released from the jailhouse, and posters plastered all over the town pictured Danny’s face with the word ‘Fugitive’ in bold above it all. Sam played the part of the grieving, clueless wife who hadn’t known about her husband. People believed her, because her tears were real.  
If she had one thing to be thankful for, it was that Danny seemed to be very good at hiding. No one had seen hide nor hair of him for almost a year, and though the posters calling for his arrest had been long since worn away, there was still a bounty on Danny’s head. Sam, meanwhile, had suitors coming from far and wide to try and win her heart, but none of them could rival Danny in any way. She remained a widow, as some might say, although her husband was missing and not dead. She hoped.  
It took only a little over a year before Sam started to lose hope that Danny was ever coming back. She thought perhaps someone had simply shot at him, thinking him but a wolf that would be a threat to their livestock. Sam went to bed each night with a heavy heart, wondering how she’d go on with all this terrible knowledge that she had, and all of the probably terrible knowledge that she didn’t have. As she prepared for bed one night, there came a knock on her door; she almost ignored it, but since the numbers of suitors arriving at her front doorstep had been lessening recently, she thought it best to answer.  
Sam wrapped a light, purple velvet cloak around her shoulders before making her way to the front door. She was wearing a thin nightdress underneath, the colour of it very pale, almost white but not quite. The nights were starting to get a chilly bite to them, so she wasn’t surprised by the rush of cool air that whispered by as she opened the door.  
What surprised her was the image of her husband, who all but tumbled into the manor and into her arms as soon as the door opened.  
“Daniel!” Sam exclaimed, delighted. It was only when Danny let out a rasp of pain as she embraced him that she realized something was wrong.  
Sam held her husband out at arm’s length to observe him. He looked just horrible, with a black eye and a bloody nose and small cuts and scrapes all over his face. It was like someone had wanted to paint an abstract portrait of pain, using Danny as a canvas. Sam felt sick.  
“What hath happened to thee?” She asked, frowning. Danny was breathing heavily, though each breath made him wince in pain. He looked over his shoulder, his expression fearful.  
It was then that Sam saw three tall men standing in the doorway behind them. One of them cracked their knuckles while the other two grinned.  
“Lady Samantha, we hath caught this fugitive,” the one who’d cracked his knuckles said, grabbing the back of Danny’s already-ripped shirt and tugging him away from Sam. “We thought thou would appreciate a last meeting with him.”  
There was the clicking of horses’ hooves from nearby. The carriage of the constabulary came into view, sparking a wave of despair in Sam.  
“No!” She screamed, lunging forward toward Danny. The three men yanked him away from her, as the officers stopped the carriage and climbed out.  
“No! No! I beg of thee, spare him! He hath done no wrong!” Sam screamed, tears starting to run down her face.  
One of the constabulary officers took her arms to hold her back as the other officers stopped Danny.  
“So thee thinketh, Lady Samantha,” the officer said coldly. Then he turned to Danny. “Daniel Fenton, art thou a werewolf?”  
“Yes,” Danny responded immediately, sending a sad look toward Sam. She simply sobbed and shook her head.  
“No! He lies!” Sam cried, her voice breaking, but no one paid her any attention.  
“And hath thou killed?”  
There was pause in which Danny looked around uncertainly, meeting his wife’s eyes briefly with something like shame in them. Sam shook her head, willing it to not be true.  
Danny turned his gaze back to the constabulary officers.  
“No.”  
The officers started shouting. They converged on Danny, and someone kicked him to the ground. Sam cried out, struggling against the officer, but he held her strong. She stomped on his foot with her heel, and he grunted in pain and let her go. Sam’s nightdress swished around her ankles and the cloak flew from her shoulders as she ran forward. She started trying to force her way through the officers and she managed to throw one aside, but then the officer who’d been holding her earlier grabbed hold of her wrist again. Sam was tugged away from the scene as they shoved Danny harshly into the carriage, scream after scream tearing from her throat until the officer let her go. As the constabulary carriage faded from view, Sam’s screams turned into sobs and she collapsed into the dirt.  
“It hath been announced that tis to be a public execution, Lady Samantha,” one of the men who’d brought Danny to her doorstep said, grinning at her howl of anguish. They all laughed among themselves as they walked away.  
It was nearing dusk when Sam finally dragged herself to her feet, walking with no life in her limbs at all into her manor. She collapsed against the wall beside the door as soon as she got inside, wrapping her arms around herself. It seemed like hours as she sat there, feeling empty, her tears long dried but the gaping hole inside her heart stretching infinitely. This was much worse than when Danny had been missing, because she had had some shred of hope, shining like stars at midnight in the darkness; but now there was nothing. Danny was done for, and there was nothing she could do. But each thought of it tore at her heart, so it ached constantly.  
The front door of the manor was suddenly flung open, but Sam didn’t have the strength to pull herself to her feet. She recognized the sharp steps made by the boots of the constabulary and felt hate welling up in her throat, seeming to choke her.  
“There is no need for pleasantries, Lady Samantha,” the voice of an officer she vaguely recognized spoke, with a sneering venom in his voice as he said her name.  
Sam’s arm was grabbed and she was dragged to her feet, being treated like a criminal. Like her husband had. Neither of them had done anything wrong.  
As she was shoved into the carriage, she had to wonder where they were taking her; likely to the jailhouse again, on the same charges that had been put on her a year before. Sam didn’t care anymore. She could rot in there with complete despondence, and probably would.  
It wasn’t until they stopped and Sam was taken out that she began to fight against the constabulary. They were standing in the town square, and it was packed with townsfolk; a gallows pole had been erected in the middle of the square. Sam started to scream again, struggling against the officers like a wild thing, but there were more of them this time and they managed to hold her. They brought her to a second pole across the square and tied her to it with thick rope that scratched her wrists raw.  
“Thou shalt watch the execution of thy husband,” the officer who’d tied her up snarled gleefully. “Thou should be relieved that thou art not burning with him.”  
Sam sobbed softly, her shoulders shaking. Her eyes widened as Danny was marched up to the gallows, his hands tied behind his back. The town square was darkening, and Sam could see Danny’s eyes beginning to glow. She hoped against hope that he would transform in time to break away from the officers.  
But he didn’t, and Sam’s eyes blurred with tears as Danny was strung up in the noose. The scene softened as Sam cried, so that she mercifully didn’t see the moment of her husband’s death. But she could see, vaguely, that he was a distorted creature as he died. He had a covering of patchy white fur, and glowing green eyes, but his body was mostly human.  
Sam shuddered with horror each time there were jeering shouts or laughter from the crowd, and it was worst of all as the noose was tightened around Danny’s neck. There was a horrible howl that ripped from his throat, a choking cry which was half-human and half a noise which some savage creature of the night would seem likely to make. It cut off slowly as Danny was strangled to death, Sam now covering her face with her hands as she wept.  
“Weep not, Lady Samantha,” the officer who’d tied up her wrists told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. His voice was taut with some emotion that she despised him for but could not quite put word to.  
“Dost thou see the monster thou hath loved?” He continued, his voice dripping with a taunting sting. “Thou art better off without him.”  
Sam shook her head, her long black hair rippling as she did so. Danny had never hurt anyone, she knew he never would. They’d killed him because he was different, and that scared them.  
They’d be quick to sentence an innocent to death. A wolf would kill a lamb, of course, but they were cowards for putting on the sheep’s clothing and calling it justice and safety.  
For fear, a wolf will survive and a lamb will die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super proud of this one, to be honest, but it's the longest one-shot I've written for this book so far so I might as well post it


	13. Come Back, Come Back to Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: A little bit of brooding Dan  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Angst (?)
> 
> Kind of a songfic, but not really. I didn't base it off the song very much at all so, yeah

It was late afternoon, and the frosty bite that the air had was getting steadily more chilly as the sun crept towards the horizon.  
Dan sat in the snow, staring off into the forest which sprawled several feet ahead of him. The ice and glittery white powder which caked the landscape gave the forest an almost smudged look, as if someone had gone over it with white oil pastel. There was little which moved in-between the trees, the cold seeming to make the wildlife lethargic and reluctant to leave the warmth of their burrows and nests. To anyone else, it might have been a peaceful scene. But for Dan it only brought up memories of when he was younger.  
The ghost powers, linked to the ghost core which kept him from feeling the cold of the evening, had come to him at first when he’d been young and impressionable. Only fourteen, with good motives and perhaps a hero complex, he’d set out to protect the town of Amity Park. Dan thought he’d done well, for those years he’d been in high school. With Sam and Tucker by his side, he’d saved perhaps the entire town from an unfortunate future. But what was he now? So different from then. He didn’t quite know what had happened to the teen he’d used to be, with light intentions in his heart, who kept on doing what he thought was right, even through the injuries and sleepless nights.   
But it was just like they said; the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And there he was, sitting in his own personal hell. Dan let out a bitter laugh. He’d never wanted this to happen, of course. Clockwork had shown him this future, and he’d been terrified of becoming this when he was older, but he’d still taken it too lightly. And everything he’d once dreaded was now a reality for him.  
Dan sighed, watching a small flurry of snowflakes stir up in front of him. Holding out one hand, he twisted his fingers and watched the snowflakes dance like icy flecks of fire before throwing out his fingers so that the snow drifted to the ground. A long time back, Dan thought maybe a month or two after the bitterness from the portal accident had faded, he could remember running through snowy afternoons with Sam and Tucker. They’d have snowball wars, push each other into the towering banks of white at the edges of the roads, even make snow angels. The cold around him had felt like a relief at the time, when his ghost core had still been acting up.   
Dan turned his gaze to the ground slowly, thinking back with a bittersweet sort of mentality to the time he’d first discovered his ice powers. With Sam and Tucker, it had simply given him an edge in their snowball fights, although he’d usually let one of them win. He remembered their smiling faces, their eyes glittering with joy and their faces flushed red from the frosty wind. Bright, childish laughter rang through the ears of his memory, and Dan smiled a little, losing himself in it. He’d joked about the powers with his two friends, trying to make off like they were no big deal. But he alse remembered that when he was alone, when it was dark, he’d walk into the backyard; Danny, as he’d been at the time, would walk through the snow with his head held high. His breath had made no mist in the freezing night air, and he floated so as not to disturb the freshly falling snow. It was what he’d do if he ever felt stressed, overwhelmed, smaller than himself. The teen he’d been would step out into the freezing cold, functioning a sort of crown for himself out of ice, with the skilled hands of the powers he hadn’t quite understood. The crown would glitter glassily in the low light of the moon, the sharp tips at the top standing up from the snow-white hair he’d place it upon.   
The moonlit winter landscape had felt like a kingdom. A place where he could stand for hours, untouched, alone but not lonely. Where he could revel in the power flowing through him but not be afraid of it. He’d been in his element, in the cold, where he’d strut with his feet just above the ground and a jagged crown atop his head. The soft, chilled wind would sweep around him and over his shoulders, flaring out behind him all laden through with snowflakes. He thought every time of a delicate, shimmering cape, swirling over his shoulders and billowing at his back. That teen had felt born again in the winter. He’d felt refreshed, rejuvenated, like a phoenix of ice which rises from the powdery snow. Immortal.  
But now the icy world around him felt just as most would perceive it: cold, and unforgiving. A sore reminder of a time long passed, one that would slip through his fingers if he tried to retrieve it, just like the flakes of snow would be pulled between the gaps by the whispering wind. Dan couldn’t bring back a single emotion that he’d felt in the cold as a young teen. Instead of ruling a winter world, the saddening memories that the landscape brought ruled him.   
The sound of softly crunching snow alerted Dan to someone walking up behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The footsteps didn’t sound exactly hostile, anyway, so he didn’t really have any reason to even look up at who was approaching. As the strange person stopped just behind him, there was a moment where the world seemed to still. For just a second or two, the wind let up, so that the lightly falling snow was reduced to small, serene flakes. When Dan felt something being placed on his head gently, he had the strangest impression of being in a snow globe, where the world he was trapped inside was shaken for a few minutes and snow obscured it all.   
Bringing his hand up to touch the object sitting atop his head, Dan felt the familiar crinkle of cellophane and tinfoil. The dull spikes rising from the vaguely circular object left an aching pain in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He turned then, finally, and the person behind him was the one he’d most and least expected all at once.   
Jazz smiled at him, her eyes sad but her smile hopeful. Her long ginger hair flickered out behind her like fire, like a beacon in the snowy world. Reaching out a hand to her younger brother, she spoke softly.  
“It’s been a long winter, Danny,” Jazz said, her eyes drifting to the handmade crown she’d placed on his head. “Maybe it’s time for you to come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst if you want the song this was kinda-sorta-not-really based off it's 'St. Catherine Street' by Sea Wolf


	14. Fireflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny finds that walking through the woods of Wisconsin near dusk is not the best idea . . .   
> Rating: T, shouldn't be too bad though  
> Genre: Horror  
> Warnings: Some blood and gore, mentions of cannibalism

Danny couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so utterly lost.  
He was walking through the Wisconsin forest as the sun was setting, stumbling once in a while over snow-slick tree roots or patches of ice. Although the winter forest was very cold, the snow making a heavy blanket on the ground, Danny luckily could barely feel it; his ghost core was keeping him from freezing, because he already had a very abnormally low body temperature. Even as a human, people often remarked how chilly his hands were. Danny resented the unusual coldness that he had most of the time, but now he could only feel grateful for it. It was probably the only thing keeping him from hypothermia.  
He was growing steadily more nervous as darkness fell. He had no reason to be afraid, really. With his ghost powers, there was nothing in the dark forest that would be able to get to him, and the night vision that he had in ghost form would be a definite plus.  
It was just that the dark was such an instinctive fear, some people didn’t seem to be able to ward it off, no matter what. Not to mention there were the . . . things.  
Danny didn’t know what they were, and that made him the most uneasy out of everything. He could sense that they were following him, not far behind, but whenever he tried to get a look at one it ran off through the trees. All he could tell was that they were darkly coloured and about the size of small wolves. Coyotes, maybe, Danny tried to reassure himself. But they didn’t move like coyotes. Something seemed wrong about them, unnatural. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what.  
A cloud of bluish fog would rise from his lips once in a while; his ghost sense going off. This was his first hint about the things following him. Danny could only assume they must be some ectoplasmic beings, and he really didn’t want to know what. They were probably some failed experiment of Vlad’s, and that was something Danny could do without seeing. The worst thing about the situation was that Danny couldn’t fly away; his parents had extended a ghost shield over the entire area while they stayed for a week at Vlad’s, and Danny knew that the shield was low over the treetops. He didn’t want to try and test exactly how low it was, only to be zapped and plummet back to the ground, helpless prey for whatever was stalking him.  
Night was now taking the forest in its charcoal grip, sending creeping tendrils of darkness across the ground like lengthening shadows. Danny slouched into his hoodie, looking around him with anxious eyes. He could hear the movements of the things, now, and they seemed to be getting louder as the sun set. Their footsteps were measured, keeping up with him in almost perfect time, but Danny could still detect the faint crunches of snow being packed down under numerous sets of feet. It seemed like mocking voices were swirling around him, laced through with chuckles that were venomous in nature. Danny kept getting those uncomfortable chills that signaled him to a ghost presence, and he found himself often glancing over his shoulder as darkness swallowed the forest whole.  
Panic engulfed him for a moment because as soon as the light left completely, he heard the footsteps of the things speed up and the unintelligible voices became higher pitched with what might have been excitement. A chill went through Danny, the core that thrummed softly alongside his heart expanding to fill his body as he transformed into his ghost half. Another chill had gone down his spine, completely unrelated to the one he always felt with transformation. No, this chill had been one of vague horror as he heard the sharp clicking of jaws opening and closing. As Danny turned around, the forest now looking as though it were lit by early dawn light, he saw several dark forms turn and scurry into the cover of the foliage. His heart clenched briefly in fear. They’d gotten much closer that time than ever before.  
Danny turned around again to start walking forward, and this time his heart nearly stopped.  
Glowing green orbs were suspended in the semi-darkness between the trees, flickering like fireflies and occasionally moving around smoothly in almost swooping motions. Danny would have thought that the irregular luminescent shapes were fireflies, had they not caught the light of the moon and shone briefly silver whenever they moved. It took the half-ghost a moment or two before he realized that they were eyes.  
And they were so many more of them than he thought. He counted the pairs of flashing, acid green eyes, but they kept moving and Danny kept losing track around ten. He had a rough estimate, however, and there were just so many. How was he supposed to get away from this many pairs of watchful eyes, this many creatures whose footsteps were calculated and predatory so that he barely heard a thing?  
There was a rumble in the air like the building of electricity before a charged storm, and like that Danny realized that the creatures were growling. It was a low, throaty, feral noise like the snarl of a rabid wolf, and Danny could hear the clicking of teeth again. Baring his own ghostly fangs at the creatures, Danny growled as well, but it was a spectral instinct buried deeply enough that it was hard for him to reach. He felt like an odd human playing wolf, and from the whispery hyena-like laughter floating around him, the things in the forest thought so too.  
A couple of them stepped forward, so that Danny could almost see what they looked like. There was something familiar about them, in a weird, twisted way, but Danny couldn’t quite figure out what. The things looked disfigured, and this was the missing piece from the puzzle for his mind. There wasn’t enough light.  
Before they could get too close, and before he could see what they looked like, the fear in Danny caused a real growl to issue from deep in his chest. It rose to a sharp pitch in an almost coughing noise, and the bolder creatures who had stepped forward paused but did not go back. Out of desperation, Danny let bright green sparks flash between his fingertips, creating an almost vein-like structure of electric bolts. He snapped a small current at the creatures, and they let out yowls of dissatisfaction as they retreated.  
Danny saw them for a moment in the flash of eerie green electricity, and all his guards dropped as shock coursed through him like his power had an instant earlier. They’d looked like . . . him. Almost. They were deformed creatures, with jaws that looked like they could unhinge, nearly snake-like. Their ghost fangs were long and yellowed, as if they’d been living on carrion and kills for some time, and almost all of them were missing limbs.  
As Danny let down his defenses in that moment of shock, the creatures converged on him, and he could see them in all their gruesome horror. Softly glowing green ectoplasm dripped from their wounds, which were commonly as severe as missing arms or legs, and always were apparent as large gashes all over their bodies. Some even seemed to have had their throats slit as some point, almost all the way through, so that their heads lolled crazily on their necks. Their faces watched Danny with something close to human intelligence, but it was also mixed with crazed hunger. It chilled Danny to see that on faces almost identical to his. The creatures had long claws that were stained with ectoplasm and blood. It occurred to Danny, suddenly, that they were almost certainly cannibals. They probably attacked one another when other food was scarce.  
“What the hell, Vlad,” Danny muttered nervously as he let his power rush through his veins so that sparks crackled over his body again. The creatures seemed wary of the acid green electricity that Danny could call up. He let it engulf him, spinning threads and bolts of sparks around him like a spider spins a web, letting electricity gush from him as if his every pore were a spinneret. The creatures kept their distance.  
Danny sighed in relief, sending out bolts of sparks at them once in a while if they ever got too close. They would back off, letting out snarling coughs of frustration, but they’d never retreat completely. Danny was quickly becoming exhausted and frustrated. He could only use his powers in such a high intensity for so long before it would drain him, and he’d be forced to transform back to human. God knows what terrible, gory things the creatures would do to a defenseless human in the dark forest.  
Suddenly, Danny heard footsteps from behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, in case the creatures gathered up the bravery (or hunger) to leap at him.  
“Hello?” he called out nervously, not sure what to expect.  
He relaxed as he heard the voices of his parents, but something was wrong in their tones. His father’s voice was excited, determined, and his mother’s voice was calculating and even. They were clearly on a hunt, Danny would recognize those tones anywhere, and what was he right now? A ghost.  
“This is one of the strongest signals we’ve picked up yet!” Danny’s father said, sounding like a child free in a candy shop, with money clenched in their fist.  
“Yep, there’s the leader,” his mother said, and there was the sound of a weapon firing up. “Got the sights locked on it.”  
Danny’s mouth was dry, his throat closed up by panic, but still he was turning to try and offer some explanation, anything to sway his parents. He’d barely gotten halfway there when he heard Vlad yelling, “Maddie! No! Stop!”  
The last thing Danny felt was an enormous electric current, like a Taser, coursing through his body. Then everything went dark and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm I was actually pretty happy with this one


	15. Magpie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny's grown up as a hunter, but he's starting to doubt the values he's been raised with. Perhaps a trip to the Ghost Zone would help solidify his new values . . .  
> Rating: G? Like a low T? Idk there's a kiss scene  
> Genre: Fluff
> 
> It's Pitch Pearl oh yeah

Excitement and pride would be Danny’s usual feelings as his mother went over their catches of the night, but right now he only felt shame and an uneasy sickness in his heart. He sometimes wondered what was wrong with him, since the mother-son ghost hunting trips that they often took used to be so fun for him. Now, it chilled him to watch his mother be so cold and calculating in the task. Especially when their ‘target’ was a child.  
Danny had been feeling for awhile like their work was wrong. The things he was witnessing recently clashed with what his mom had always told him. She said that ghosts were mindless creatures that couldn’t feel, and that their only purpose was to terrorize and hurt people. But as he watched the spectral figure of a young girl, not more than five or six, be pulled into the Fenton Thermos, he couldn’t help his doubts. His heart wrenched every time her small, round face, crumpled with fear, flashed through his mind’s eyes.  
He’d been the one to find the little ghost girl, hearing the sound of light, tinkling laughter floating through the breeze. As the kid had come into view, it had been obvious immediately that she was a ghost; but she was so obviously not a threat, playing with a tiny puppy, that Danny was going to move on and leave her with not a word to his mother. That is, until his mom burst suddenly into the scene, pointing her Ecto-ray at the ghost kid. As the shot fired, the puppy ran away and the little girl collapsed to the ground, crying softly glowing tears of pain and terror.  
Danny tried to intervene, pretending to stumble so that he hit his mother’s arm with his shoulder, but the thermos pulled the girl in nonetheless. His mother gave him a stern look, he gave her a sheepish explanation, and they went home with their capture of the night. Danny pretended to be excited about it, but the sick feeling lingered with him all evening. It got much worse after his mom took the thermos down to the lab. God knows what kind of horrible experiments went on down there.  
The house seemed to quiver in its very foundation as Danny lay awake at night. He swore it was spectral cries of pain from their basement that made the house shake, as if it were hearing the misery and resonating back with it. Danny curled up on himself, feeling despicable. He’d helped with this, hadn’t he? He should have done something more to let the ghost escape, he thought, as turned over to let his tears of shame soak his pillow. Danny fell asleep as soon as his body stopped shivering sickly.

That had been the last straw for him. He didn’t think he’d ever, ever want to know what kind of experiments his parents ran down in the lab, even though they were gone and he was in the basement and it was the perfect opportunity. The lab had grown in recent years, and there were locked doors going off from the main room in all directions; Danny didn’t have the heart (or the stomach) to brave the rooms that branched off, and the main room had what he wanted anyway. So he’d gotten the ghost-hunting jumpsuit from where he’d thrown it to the floor, despising the fibres of its being, and had put it on. He’d need it where he was going. And he was going through the Ghost Zone portal.  
Danny took a deep breath, steeling himself. He’d already flipped the switch to turn on the portal, and it had flickered like a creepy old TV set before fully powering up. Now Danny felt almost entranced by the swirling greens of the entrance in front of him, but they also inspired a certain fear in him. He had no idea what lay beyond the open industrial doors of the portal.  
As he finally stepped through, it felt like his body had been dunked in a bucket of ice. He gasped at the sudden cold, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, and then it passed with a sigh of relief from Danny.  
The landscape just inside the Ghost Zone was dreary and low-lit; there was some plant life, and it gave off a soft bioluminescent light. Small blobs of ectoplasm floated through the air, watching Danny silently with globulous red eyes. There was no wind to stir the air, so it had a stale aroma, as if it had been sitting stagnant for a long, long time. Despite the stillness of the air, the plants still swayed slightly, and whispering voices passed Danny’s ears too quickly for him to catch what they said. It was warmer than the temperature of the entrance, but not by much. The stale air had the chill of a late-autumn evening.  
Danny hadn’t brought any weapons with him, not wanting to seem frightening or like a threat. He was only there, after all, to try and study some of the residents of the Zone so he could prove that ghosts were just humans, but dead. All that he had in the small backpack that he’d strung over one shoulder was his phone- although he doubted very much that it would work- and a notepad and pen. But now, seeing the imposing and creepy atmosphere of the Ghost Zone, Danny was beginning to regret that decision. He shrugged lightly, trying to ward off the small worm of nervousness curling in his stomach. Pulling the strap of his bag further up on his shoulder, Danny started walking forward.  
Once he got past the dreariness and gloom, the Zone really was a fascinating place; he’d maybe even go as far as to say pretty, in its own weird way. The swaying flora gave the place an almost mystical look, with the phosphorescent flowers and ferns, and the little blob ghosts floating through the air were like small lanterns to light Danny’s way. Dead leaves crackled under his feet, giving off little sparks as they crumbled to dust. Danny had never found biology to be the most interesting, but he thought he’d gladly study the plant life of the Ghost Zone.  
Danny thought the trip was going well so far, even though he hadn’t found any really sentient ghosts. The blob ghosts, he soon realized, were the ones making the quiet whispers. But he couldn’t understand them. He thought they might be talking in different language, whether they were trying to communicate with him or talking to one another. Their whispers never really varied in volume, although they differed in tone as the little ectoplasmic blobs converged around him.  
Danny reached out slowly to touch one of the ghosts, and although it floated sluggishly away with a soft hiss, he managed to brush it with his fingers. It was frigidly cold, as if he’d touched ice, but it also seemed squishy. Danny had felt the gooey substance give a little under his fingers, even though he’d barely brushed it.  
There was a loud tone of dissonant notes from behind him as the blob ghosts suddenly scattered. Danny resisted the urge to cover his ears, turning slowly towards the noise with his breath caught in his throat. The sudden rich twang of guitar strings had taken him by surprise and had startled him at first, but now he felt excitement rising in his chest. It was probably a ghost! He could finally talk to one!  
Before he could really get a good look at the ghost in front of him, the sharp point of a guitar head was pushed against his throat.  
“Be a good little hunter and don’t try to run,” the ghost holding the guitar said, almost lazily, as she observed him from behind half-lidded eyes. Her hair was flaming and blue, flickering slowly outward from the ponytail it was in. Though she was obviously making an effort to appear calm, bored even, Danny could see flecks of fear in her eyes and . . . recognition? Did most ghosts know him and his mom here?  
Danny raised his hands slowly in surrender, eyeing the sharp point that rested against his throat.  
“I’m not here as a hunter,” he explained, trying to keep his voice steady. “I just wanted to talk-“  
“Oh, sure, that’s what they all say,” the ghost woman said, flicking her free hand. “Gimme your pack. And you’re coming with me.”  
Danny shrugged the bag off his shoulder and handed it over, swallowing nervously.  
“Where are we going?” he asked, receiving a prod from the guitar’s point to urge him into walking.  
“Gonna get ya to the Ghost King,” the ghost walking behind him said. “His Majesty knows how to deal with intruding hunters.”  
Danny felt his palms break out into a cold sweat at the words. Dread closed his throat as he was marched through the Ghost Zone, preventing him from asking any more questions. He knew he wouldn’t be able to run more than a few paces before he’d be skewered by the razor-sharp guitar head if he did try to run, so he kept silent and walked steadily onwards. He thought quiet compliance might be his only key to surviving.  
Danny’s stomach bunched up in knots as he was marched right up the steps to a large castle, looming darkly and ominously over him like a thunderhead. Two spectral guards drifted forward, sporting seemingly outdated weapons.  
“What business have you, McLain?” one of them grumbled, sending a glare  
Danny’s way.  
“Got an intruder for the king. A hunter,” the ghost woman- McLain?- responded. There was something like pride in her voice.  
The castle’s guards scrutinized them both through narrowed eyes for several minutes, then called out something that Danny couldn’t understand. A second later, the front doors of the castle swung open with a long, almost absurdly drawn-out creak, and Danny and ‘McClain’ were ushered into the castle.  
It was much darker inside, with only the occasional tiny blob ghost drifting by to light the interior. It seemed much colder inside, and damp, and the scent of musty rot made Danny want to sneeze.  
The further they went into the castle, following long, twisting corridors, the brighter and more complicated the decorations got. Danny was slightly surprised when he noticed beautiful tapestries of in a multitude of colours, and plush rugs lining the floor of the halls. Majestic chandeliers hung from the ceiling, shedding a soft green light which seemed to be exuded by many small beings like fireflies that flickered within glass domes.  
Danny knew they’d finished the long walk when they came upon two enormous doors, gilded with gleaming silver in ornate designs. Two guards standing just outside pushed open the doors, revealing a surprisingly well-lit room with golden candleholders lining the walls. A figure sat in a chair at the opposite end, looking almost bored.  
“Your Majesty Phantom! I have an intruder for ya!” the ghost woman standing behind Danny called out, pushing him forward into the room by a jab from her guitar.  
The Ghost King perked up slightly, somehow making the movement look smooth and elegant. An elaborate crown floated just above his head, sending a faint glow onto his white-blonde hair. The King looked tall, even from the distance he was at, and his eyes were a phosphorescent acid green. He stood from the plush throne he’d been sitting in and walked forward to meet Danny in the middle of the room.  
Danny felt immensely nervous. He was shaking now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides so that it would hopefully not be noticeable. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the ghost who’d brought him here float up beside him, but he dared not take his eyes from the Ghost King.  
“He’s a hunter,” the ghost woman said, sending a venomous glare Danny’s way. “I don’t know what he’s doing here exactly, but it can’t be good.”  
“You haven’t questioned him yet?” The Ghost King said, shifting his gaze slowly from Danny to the spectral woman beside him. His voice was even and calm, not sounding angry in the slightest. Danny could only just see a bluish blush rising to the ghost woman’s face. She shook her head slowly.  
The King clicked his tongue softly, turning his green eyes back to Danny.  
“Hunter,” he said softly, “What are you doing in the Ghost Zone?”  
“I-I wanted to talk to some of the ghosts here,” Danny stuttered, his voice quivering slightly. He winced at the high-pitched tightness of his tone, at the nervousness that was apparent.  
The Ghost King said nothing for a long moment, his stare fixed calmly on Danny. Then he reached out a gloved hand slowly.  
“His bag, please, Ember,” the King said, without moving his gaze from Danny. The ghost woman, Ember, handed over the bag quickly, and the Ghost King’s eyes were finally moved from Danny, down to the bag as he rooted through its contents. It was only a few seconds before he handed the bag back to Danny, leveling his calm gaze on the living teen.  
“Thank you, Ember,” said the Ghost King, in a slightly dismissive way, “but I think I can handle this from here.”  
Danny’s nervousness ramped up a little as Ember paused for a moment, then nodded and floated from the room. In the point that the panic which he’d been trying to quell came to a point, he had the bravery to tear his gaze away from the King to watch her go, feeling a little despairing. Although the King had been the one who had been calm and collected, while Ember seemed angry, the white-haired ghost also had an aura of power that put Danny on edge. Ember just hadn’t had the same almost electric aura. The air around Danny seemed charged.  
“What’s your name, hunter?” The Ghost King asked, dragging Danny suddenly from the panic he’d been slipping into. As Danny looked back at him, he seemed closer than before, and in his acid green eyes Danny could read curiosity. Not what he’d expected, to say the least. It threw him off guard.  
“Danny, Your Majesty,” he replied with hardly a moment’s hesitation.  
The King nodded, holding out a hand loosely. Danny shook his hand with some hesitation, and he felt a little shocked at the chill of it and the strength. The Ghost King was not holding Danny’s hand too tightly, and his grip wasn’t painful, but Danny could definitely feel the strength behind it.  
“There is no need for being so official,” the King said softly. “Just call me Phantom. It will do.”  
Then Phantom took a small step back, an inquisitive smile on his face.  
“You said you wanted to talk to the ghosts here?”  
Danny nodded, starting to reach into his bag for his notepad. After all, he had so many notes to make already, about the structure of the society and ghost behaviours. Danny expected Phantom to tell him to start asking questions, or to maybe kick him out from the castle. Instead, the Ghost King asked another question of his own.  
“Why? If you are a hunter, why do you want to talk?”  
Danny paused for a moment, biting his lip as he tried to get the right explanation together in his head. He thought he saw Phantom’s eyes waver down to the small movement, but if that had happened it was only for a moment.  
“I was born into the life of a hunter, but . . .” Danny looked toward the ground, collecting his thoughts, “But I’ve thought that my parents have been wrong for awhile. I wanted to learn more about ghosts, and I wanted to prove that ghosts are- are just like us.”  
Phantom looked intrigued, and as the minutes ticked by and the Ghost King only looked interested in what he had to say, Danny began to relax. He explained to the King about how his feelings towards ghost hunting quickly became mixed as soon as he noticed that the ghosts had very human characteristics.  
Phantom listened to Danny’s every word as the reformed hunter talked, the ghost’s face speaking of the high level of attention that he was paying to Danny. The raven-haired teen still felt a little nervous about the attention, but he also found that he really didn’t mind it. As he neared the end of his story, Danny even felt himself becoming sad, if he was honest, that he would soon have to leave the Ghost Zone and its king.  
As soon as Danny finished talking, there was a moment of absolute silence. Danny stood up, shouldering his pack. He and Phantom had been sitting on the plush rug on the floor as Danny let his story spill from him in a rush like a linguistic river, and as Danny stood the air seemed much colder for some reason. He shivered, taking this as a sign that he needed to get back, and soon.  
“Phantom . . .” Danny began, licking his lips anxiously. He wasn’t mistaking it this time; the Ghost King’s softly luminescent eyes zeroed in on the action.  
“I really should be going.”  
Phantom floated smoothly to his feet, his eyes sad. He didn’t seem to acknowledge that Danny had spoken for a moment as he asked quietly, “Are you cold?”  
Danny was silent for a moment, not sure what the nature of the question was. Before he could open his mouth to respond, however, a thick jacket was draped over his shoulders. The Ghost King had taken off the velvet-and-fur jacket he’d been wearing to give it to Danny.  
As Danny pulled it closer around him, he couldn’t help but notice the scent drifting up from it; it smelled like peppermint and cinnamon, cool but with a hint of spice. Danny tried to sniff it again as inconspicuously as possible, but from the small smirk that Phantom gave him, Danny knew that it hadn’t gone unnoticed. He looked away, blushing lightly.  
A cold hand brushed over Danny’s, paired by a voice whispering softly in his ear.  
“I’d like to show you something before you leave.”  
Linking his fingers lightly into Danny’s, Phantom led the way towards a door near the back of the enormous chamber. Danny felt his heart flutter in his chest at the feeling of those cool fingers wrapped loosely around his own.  
Despite the calmness and normality of the conversations they’d had, Danny felt a faint sense of unease building in his chest as they approached the door. He felt like Phantom would reveal something horrible behind the door, and all the conceptions that Danny had been building about him and about ghosts in general would be destroyed.  
But then Phantom was opening the handsome wooden door, and in the slightly less well-lit room beyond were piles of . . . Danny wasn’t sure how to describe it. There were items that appeared to be gold, and silver, but there were also items that were quite obviously fake, cheaper metals. Piles of objects were pushed into the corners and scattered over the floor, almost carelessly. It was like an odd collection, the objects seeming slightly mismatched until some key linked them. It came to Danny with a sudden realization, the one thing that they had in common; the items were all shiny, glittering even in the dimmer lighting in the small room.  
Danny turned to look at Phantom, his expression rather confused, he was sure. Phantom blushed lightly, but there was also a half-smile on his face. The blush on his face was green, and as Danny watched Phantom’s face and that peculiar blush, he realized for the first time that the Ghost King had freckles. The freckles were also a soft, almost pastel green.  
“They’re things I’ve collected,” said Phantom quietly, but there was some pride in his voice. This was such an odd tendency, to collect little things just because they shone. But it was also a tendency which was just so human that Danny found it very endearing.  
Suddenly, Danny found himself being spun around. His breath catching slightly in his throat, he looked up into the bright green eyes of the Ghost King, whose hands gently cupped Danny’s face with a chill that sent light shivers down his spine. Phantom’s lips were still curved into a light smile as he leaned down to kiss Danny, the ghost’s fingers gradually curling into the living teen’s black hair. As their lips brushed, Danny felt something almost like a static shock tingle just under his skin. The Ghost King’s lips were cool yet soft as they moved against Danny’s own in a smooth rhythm that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Danny gasped softly with surprise, but he was quick to put his arms around Phantom and pull himself closer to deepen the kiss, even as his cheeks heated with a flush.  
As the two pulled apart, Phantom stroked his hand down the side of Danny’s face, and Danny leaned into the touch. Small smiles graced both their faces as they stood for a moment in each other’s arms, then took a small step apart.  
“Take care, Danny, and come back soon,” Phantom whispered as Danny began to walk toward the door. “Of all the things I’ve brought into this castle, and that have been brought to me, you shine the brightest.”  
Danny smiled, although the sadness that coiled around his heart was repeated in Phantom’s eyes.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Danny said, pausing for a moment. There was the hint of a smile in his voice. “Magpie.”

The Ghost King held back a laugh at the nickname. He supposed it was appropriate. He turned to the small vault he kept as soon as Danny left.  
“He’ll be back,” he whispered to the empty room. “He still has the jacket, after all.”  
Phantom chuckled to himself, the sound echoing softly around the large chamber that he had his back to. The greatest treasure he’d come across, he couldn’t lock in this room, he couldn’t keep. But he knew that the teen with a shining soul would come back anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually bad at writing fluff, like my fluff usually ends up being really short, but this is the longest oneshot I've written for this book so far? Wild
> 
> I think my updating schedule is gonna change to once a week, as school and other things get going I won't be able to keep up the current schedule


	16. Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny tries to relax. When you're half-ghost with ghost-hunting parents, that can be a little hard  
> Rating: G  
> Genre: Light angst?

Small, almost-formless blobs of green floated lazily through the air above where   
Danny lay on his back, lounging in his bed. It was a cool evening in mid-autumn, and Danny was simply relaxing for a few hours in his room. Despite the light chill in the air, the teen’s blankets were clumped around his knees; to pull them up any further would overheat him. The ghost core thrumming softly near his heart could be very fickle about the external temperature.  
Speaking of Danny’s ghost core, it was exactly this which had attracted the little blob-ghosts. He’d observed that they seemed to clump in droves around sources of strong ectoplasmic power- but associating this with himself made him uneasy, so Danny tended to ignore this. The half-ghost reached up toward one which was drifting, as if caught in a slight breeze, just over his head. His fingers pressed lightly into the small ghost’s side, feeling the squishy matter of it give under his fingers. The blob-ghost let out a soft mewl of protest and swished away, turning accusatory crimson eyes on Danny as he chuckled quietly.   
A surprising amount of the littler ectoplasmic beings had no real form, or otherwise actually resembled traditional ghosts; this meaning, they looked vaguely like very small humans with green sheets draped over them (if those sheets were covered in Jello™-like ectoplasm). The ones that had more defined forms were more sentient than the ambient floating blobs, and they could even speak a limited amount of the ghost language, something which Danny was just beginning to become fluent in.   
In fact, as these blob-ghosts often followed him in swarms, he sometimes now had conversations with them. The conversations were sadly limited, as neither of the speakers really had a good grasp of the only language they had in common, but it gave Danny a chance to learn more about the traditions and ways of the Ghost Zone. Not to mention that he picked up more and more of the language along the way.   
Danny’s room was starting to get decidedly cold, what with all the ghostly presences in it, and also from the setting of the sun. The darker that it got in there, the more the little ghosts began to glow, until they resembled phosphorescent lanterns floating through the room. Danny tucked his hands behind his head, a soft smile on his face as he started to fall asleep. The scene was so peaceful, with a vaguely eerie autumnal vibe that that the half-ghost felt comfortable in. Danny yawned, his eyes closing slowly-  
His door flew open with a BANG as it hit his wall, and Danny nearly jumped out of his skin. In the doorway stood his father, holding a blaster in one hand and waving it around almost wildly.  
“Danny! Are you okay, son? There was a strong signal of ghost activity from up here,” the man exclaimed, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the room.   
“U-uh, yeah, Dad. Everything’s fine. N-no ghosts around here,” Danny responded, a little nervously. It was true, in a way. The blob-ghosts were nowhere to be seen anymore; Danny thought they must have fled the moment the door flew open, before he could even open his eyes again.   
“Are you sure?” Danny’s father turned his gaze toward his son, eyes still narrowed. “No ghosts threatening you to keep quiet about their presence and their villainous activities?”  
Danny felt something like a spike of ice pierce his heart. No matter what he and Jazz tried to say to their parents, they still firmly believed ghosts could be nothing but evil. It wasn’t like he didn’t know this already, but . . . it hurt, every time he was reminded. His parents would hate him if they ever found out.  
“Yes, Dad, I’m sure,” Danny said, forcing out a small laugh. It sounded a little strangled to him.  
His father paused in the doorway for a moment more, then nodded and turned back away to return downstairs. Danny sighed as the small ghosts returned, phasing their almost-liquid bodies through the walls and the ceiling. The teen turned a mournful look towards a cat-shaped one floating near the edge of his bed. It gazed back, its slanted red eyes looking mostly blank, but Danny thought there was a hint of sympathy in them. Somewhere.  
He patted the cat’s head with one hand, even though it felt like petting freezing jello. He could feel its quiet purring against his hand.  
“You’d hate this too,” he whispered bitterly. The cat butted his hand with its head, so he smiled very slightly.   
Two worlds that he didn’t quite fit into. But he could pretend.


	17. The Explorers' Handbook; Nightmare Edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: The local 'haunted house' is likely not the best source of amusement for two young boys  
> Rating: Like a low T. Scary scenes but little gore  
> Genre: Horror

It had been a bad idea from the start, which was something that Damien had tried to convince Jaiden during their whole walk to their newest ‘adventure’. The two had the odd but typical sort of friendship where one would be adventurous and daring, and the other cautious and reserved. It wasn’t hard to tell who was who between the two boys.  
The week before this, Damien and Jaiden had been exploring the old quarry. They’d pretended that they were explorers of space, stranded on a strange new planet. The remote-looking, dusty quarry with its reddish sand and stone had really helped to set the scene, and Damien had admitted that when Jaiden had suddenly disappeared, he’d been more than a little worried. He’d decided that climbing the steep quarry wall would give him a better vantage point, a rather adventurous decision for him, and he’d luckily been only a quarter of the way up when Jaiden had appeared from a shallow cave in the cliff face and scared him. Damien had lost his grip and fallen. That’s how he’d ended up with a broken arm and the heavy cast that he still sported.  
Damien had been a little mad at his friend, of course, but Jaiden was one of the very few friends that he did have so the grudge didn’t last long. But grudge or no grudge, he should have exercised a little more of his usual caution when Jaiden suggested that they explore the abandoned house that was rumoured to be haunted. Now they were stuck inside, separated, and Damien had a creeping chill going down his spine and a suspicion that he wasn’t quite alone.

 

The house had given Damien a bad vibe right from the first time he’d seen it. The falling-apart external appearance of it looked melancholy more than anything else, but there was something about the pooling darkness behind the window panes (surprisingly still intact) that scared him rather deeply. The stone pathway leading up to the front door of the house was oddly slick for the fact that there had been no recent rain, though in any case the slipperiness was more reminiscent of a coating of frost. The grass on the lawn might have appeared to be in good shape at first glance, but the blades were much darker than they should have been, and they rippled eerily every now and then despite the still air  
Jaiden had taken the lead as the two boys walked up to the house, of course, and so he’d been the one to pull open the door to the old house. The hinges had creaked briefly as the door swung open, but the sound lasted only a moment or two. Soft, ghostly echoes faded into the darkness of the interior of the house. The two boys waited, holding their breath, listening. No sound came from the house after the echoes from the old hinges faded. Jaiden pulled a flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on, taking the first step into the house.   
Although he was back behind Jaiden, and his vision was slight obscured by the other boy, Damien thought something was weird about the way the flashlight beam shone. It might have been that the flashlight was never a strong one to begin with, Damien tried to console himself with this thought, but he couldn’t deny the fact the the beam of light barely cut into the darkness of the house. It was as if the rooms were filled with dark, murky water rather than an absence of light. Damien tried to direct his thoughts away from the weird darkness of the house, and the way that it seemed to be trying to creep in on the boys.   
Setting aside the fact that the house seemed to bend the light away from itself, it was like any other abandoned house on the inside. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the rooms in clumps; the furniture was covered in a layer of dust. Eddies of vaguely illuminated dust motes drifted up around the boys’ legs as they walked, and their footprints were the only ones they’d seen in the covering of dust so far. Jaiden flickered the flashlight’s beam around the first room several times, then sighed dramatically.  
“This is boring,” he said, drawing out the last word. “Let’s go farther!”  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Damien responded timidly. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door behind them, which swayed crookedly on its ancient hinges. The boy couldn’t help but notice, again, how the light from the open doorway barely pierced the deep darkness within the house.  
“Don’t be stupid,” Jaiden scoffed, flicking the flashlight beam in a gesture of come on. “There’s nothing in here, it’s just a cool old house.”  
Damien paused where he was standing, glancing back at the splintery wood door again and biting his lip. If he went back now, either Jaiden would go back with him (unlikely) and would call him a coward for about a week, or Jaiden would go on without him (probable). Damien didn’t want to leave his friend alone to explore this old house. It gave him a major set of the creeps.  
“A-alright,” Damien finally relented, walking forward to join his friend. Jaiden gave him a bright, excited smile and led the way forward again.   
From the first room of the house, they passed into a kitchen. The taps at the sink, the handles of the fridge, the burners on the stove were all rusty; anything that was metal, in fact, had splodges of maroon on them. It reminded Damien of dried blood. He shivered, averting his gaze to a wooden table in the middle of the tiled room.   
He might have thought that this room was the same as the first, boring, with old cobwebs in the corners and dust which had been undisturbed for years and years. But it was then that he noticed a thick book lying on the wooden kitchen table. It was quite obviously as old as the rest of the house, just as covered in dust as the table that it was lying on, its cover made of thick leather and its pages more yellow than white. Damien walked over to the table that held the book, curiously brushing off the dust that lay over its cover. Damien squinted to read the cover in the low light. ‘Photos’ was embossed into the leather in fine silver print.  
“Hey Jaiden, check this out,” Damien called to his friend, who was inspecting the sink (for whatever reason).  
Jaiden wandered over, his flashlight swinging casually at his side. He rolled his eyes as soon as he saw what Damien’s attention was occupied by.   
“It’s just a dumb old book,” Jaiden said, raising an eyebrow at his friend.  
“No, I think it’s a photo album. We could see who used to live here!”  
“We know who used to live here, people talk about it all the time. The, uh, Fentons or whatever were the last residents,” Jaiden grumbled, but Damien was already starting to flip through the photo book.  
The first couple of pages were empty. The paper had clearly once been thick and strong, but now the yellowed pages felt brittle, as if they’d crumble apart between Damien’s fingers if he wasn’t careful. There was a faint crackling noise as Damien got to a page where several photos were pasted to the paper.  
The photos, like the pages that they were stuck onto, were dried out and a little yellowed. They were old-looking pictures, with dull colours, if they had any. There were several wedding photos, the bride an attractive woman with a heart-shaped face and a soft bob cut and the husband a large, tall man with an easy-going look about him. Shortly following the wedding pictures were photos of two young children, a girl of about six and a boy of maybe three. The girl had long, flowing hair which was the same shade as the mother’s, to Damien’s best guess, and the little boy had short-cropped dark hair. They both looked very happy as young children, and there were numerous photos of the two up until the time that the boy would have been about 13.   
Jaiden tapped the flashlight against his hip, obviously impatient to keep moving. Damien flipped through the photo album, only coming up with blank pages until he got halfway through the book. The single photo on the page that he’d flipped to was of the boy, his dark hair slightly grown out so that bangs fell into his eyes. He was sending a tired sort of grumpy look back over his shoulder at whoever was taking the picture, and although he looked no older than 16 in the photo, there was something in his face which seemed aged beyond his years. The dark-haired boy now had dark circles under his eyes and hollows under his cheeks. His slumped posture in the photograph had something almost sinister about it.   
It was the last photo in the book. Although Damien flipped through it almost desperately, he didn’t come across anything else. It wasn’t until Jaiden grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the book that Damien realized that something was leaving a slightly ticklish trail down the palm of his hand. He absently brushed it away with the opposite hand, only looking down when he heard something make a faint splat on the ground.   
“What is that?” Jaiden exclaimed, pointing the beam of the flashlight down at whatever had dripped to the ground. It was a fluid almost like blood, and sickly acid green in colour. Damien looked down at his hands, crying out in surprise and disgust when he realized they were covered in the same green substance. It glowed faintly in the darkness. Shuddering, Damien was quick to wipe it off on the nearest counter, wrinkling up his nose at the way that it oozed thickly between his fingers if he pressed down too hard. He was becoming quickly more and more disgusted as the liquid refused to come off his hands, sticking to them in smears that dripped thickly onto the counter. In desperation, Damien tried to turn on the sink. The rusty handle let out a screech of protest, and nothing happened for a moment as it settled into place. Then the tap shuddered violently. Damien could hear the noise of water rushing through the pipes, and was vaguely amazed at the fact that somehow, the water was still running.   
The faucet jerked, letting out another squawk of rusty metal on rusty metal, then was silent and still for a moment. Damien sighed. The rushing noise was probably just some excess water moving through pipes in the bowels of the house. Of course nothing would come out of the tap, it was decades old.   
With a sudden, shivering sort of heave, the faucet spit forth what had been running through its pipes a moment earlier.   
Damien curled his lip in disgust at the sight of what the taps had produced; it was like whatever thick substance was clinging to his hands, pouring from the faucet unevenly and splattering heavily into the sink. It was like some strange creature was throwing up its guts into the sink, and the wet sucking noise that was made as the glowing green liquid was pulled into the drain only made that thought all the more disgusting. With his hands slipping on the handle, the icky feeling of the weird liquid squeezing up between his fingers, Damien tried to shut the sink off. The handle seemed stuck now, as if it wanted to keep the tap open so that the two horrified boys could witness the weird green substance being heaved from somewhere deep inside the house.   
“Help me!” screeched Damien to Jaiden, as his hands slipped off the sink’s handle for the fifth time. Jaiden stood frozen for a moment, then ran over and pushed against the sink’s handle with Damien, dropping his flashlight in the process. The beam of light skittered crazily as it fell, illuminating the scene of the two boys at the sink, then went out as the flashlight rolled away into the darkness.   
Together, Damien and Jaiden finally managed to shut off the sink. The only light around them now was the faint glow produced by however much of the strange liquid remained in the sink, and that of it which clung to the boys’ hands. Jaiden had unfortunately acquired some of the substance in the struggle to shut off the tap, and it hung onto his hands with an almost static-y grip.   
“Feels weird,” Jaiden mumbled. There was a frown on his face as he studied his palms.  
“Yeah. It’s probably just some weird mixture of water and, uh . . . like, weeds from the taps. Yeah,” Damien began to ramble slightly, then shut himself up before he could really get going.   
Jaiden nodded, but his eyes looked a little vacant. That look scared Damien more than anything else they’d encountered so far, and he knew that they should get out of the house as fast as possible. Immediately.  
“Come on,” Damien said, trying to put as much cheeriness into his voice as possible. Even to himself it sounded hollow and plastic. “We’re great explorers! No alien fungus will stop us! Let’s get back to the spaceship.”   
Jaiden smiled a little at the words, seeming to regain a little of himself. Damien slowly began to lead the way, for the first time ever in their adventures (although this particular one was quickly turning from adventure to nightmare). When there was still no sign of anyone but themselves having been in the house, and no sound of movement or other eerie noises, Damien began to relax. As they got closer to the door without a hitch, he could even make himself believe the thick, gooey liquid clinging to his palms really was water and some weird pipe-weed. Even though some deep-down part of his not-quite-conscious mind whispered, how was it on the book?   
Dismay tugged at Damien’s heart when he saw the darkness of the entryway: the door was closed. Jaiden made a soft whimpering noise from behind him.  
“It just, uh, blew closed in the wind,” Damien said, trying for a confident laugh and failing in every way possible.   
“What wind?” Jaiden whispered, his voice sounding hoarse and half-hysterical.   
Damien ignored him and stepped up to the door, taking hold of the handle and feeling, once more, the gross sensation of the oozy liquid on his hands squishing underneath his palms. For the first time, he noticed just how cold it was. Almost like slimey snow. With a shiver only partially due to the chill, Damien turned the door handle.   
It did turn, but loosely, and the dull clicking noise that came from deep within the door told him all that he needed to know. Refusing to believe that it was true, that the door had locked on him, Damien pulled on it. He leaned all of his weight back, then he rammed his shoulder forward into the door. Splinters dug into his shoulder sharply, but the door didn’t budge.   
“The windows, then,” Damien said desperately. He all but ran over to where the nearest one should have been, but as much as he searched around on the wall for it, only cool, smooth plaster could be felt under his palm. In the soft light of the acid green substance on his palm, which he’d smeared on the wall as he searched for a window, he could see that there wasn’t one.   
“But it was right here,” Damien said, his voice breaking even as he emphasized the final word.  
“No,” Jaiden whispered behind him. Since the boy had been quiet for several minutes, his voice made Damien jump. “This house isn’t right. It’s just . . . it’s all wrong.”   
The description was vague at best, but fitting. There was something about the house which was just so wrong and abnormal, it all but stared you in the face. It was like some threatening creature which watches you, one that could be seen from the corner of your eye, and you don’t want to look at it but eventually you’ll have to. Because eventually, it will strike. If you look at it before that happens, you might have a chance.   
“I-I’m gonna get the flashlight,” Jaiden said suddenly, his voice unsteady.   
Damien nodded, although the thought of going back deeper into the house filled him with a heavy dread. He didn’t want to see their criss-crossing footsteps in the dust, footsteps that would be covered as the years wore on, when the dust had no-one to disturb it again and could creep over the prints like they’d never been there at all. He didn’t want to hear the quiet, echoing thumps that their shoes would make, he didn’t want to see the rusty old sink which may or may not still be filled with that acid green liquid.   
Suddenly finding himself rooted to the ground with fear, Damien looked at the dark, looming shape of the closed door.   
“I’ll try to get the door open for when you get back,” he said. Damien was still trying to keep his voice cheerful, and he was still failing miserably. The thought of Jaiden going back into that kitchen alone scared him, but going there himself also filled him with immeasurable fear. He’d have to admit to himself now that he was a coward, but at least he had some sort of excuse for staying there, as sad and sorry as it was. The heavy fear which rested like a leaden ball deep in his guts wouldn’t let him leave his post by the door, but that was okay, because he could try to open the door.   
Jaiden hesitated a long, long time, so that the two boys stood staring at each other. Their eyes were equally pleading, please come along, please don’t make me, but eventually Jaiden gave in.  
“I’ll be right back,” he said. It was a good attempt at his usual careless bravery, but Damien had seen the fear in his friend’s eyes. He felt like crying as he slowly turned and rushed the door, slamming his shoulder into it. He did this again and again as he listened to Jaiden’s footsteps becoming quieter, but never quite fading from his range of hearing. Damien could feel dozens of splinters being driven through the thin material of his cotton shirt, into his shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to care until he felt trickles of hot blood running down his arm. The door hadn’t budged a single inch, hadn’t broken, hadn’t even dented. With despair rising up in him to grip his heart in ruthless, choking hands, Damien made up his mind to go to Jaiden. The other boy must still have been searching for the flashlight. It was certainly a task in the dark house.  
Damien’s footsteps echoed around him, TAP TAp tap, the sound of each one fading slowly a few moments after it was taken. It made a sort of quiet, creepy din, and it was like many other people were walking all around him. Like an army, Damien thought, and feeling a little better for it. The acoustics of his steps faded until they no longer echoed as Damien reached the kitchen, inviting fear to begin stealing back into him. His heart jumped into his throat as he didn’t see Jaiden anywhere in the room. Damien stepped slowly over the dusty white tile, seeing the photo album lying open still on the table and the faint glow still emanating from the sink basin. There was only one room beyond the kitchen, as far as Damien knew, and panic rose up inside him as he walked slowly toward it. He felt as if he were in a dream, forced to take one step after another, and all the while fear ran amuck inside his head. His heart was pounding so hard and fast Damien thought it might give out.   
The room beyond the kitchen seemed impossibly darker, a night with no moon or stars. Anything could be lurking in the corners of the room, licking its long, needle-sharp teeth and drooling in anticipation at the thought of consuming a boy (a second one said that deep barely-conscious part of Damien’s brain) but Jaiden was somewhere here. Damien would never forgive himself if he didn’t find his friend.   
“Jaiden?” Damien called out softly, and his voice echoed again the new room. The corners whispered his cry back to him, Jaiden? Jaiden? as if asking him some mocking question. Damien waited as the echoes faded away. There was nothing. No reply came from his friend, there was no sound of movement from the room or beyond. Damien kept walking forward, and suddenly he saw something crouched at the other end of the room. At the same time, his foot hit something which was sent spinning and rolling across the floor, making soft clicking noises all the while. Damien almost screamed, until the flashlight that he’d accidentally kicked flickered into life. Its diluted beam of light lit up what he’d thought was some horrible creature crouched in waiting; it was actually an empty door, with stairs leading down into blackness.   
Glancing down at the flashlight, Damien saw a faintly glowing green handprint on it. Jaiden had had the flashlight at some point, some time recently. He’d earlier dropped it before getting the weird green substance on his hands and hadn’t retrieved it since.  
Until now.  
Damien picked up the flashlight, grimacing as the ooze which was only now beginning to dry on his hands made contact with the already-dried handprint. Now there was a gross feeling. Swallowing even though his parched throat drank in the moisture immediately, Damien started walking forward. He could see just how much he was shaking now that he was holding the flashlight. The beam flickered unevenly, no matter how hard he tried to keep it pointing straight and steady.   
The stairs down into the basement, cellar, whatever it was were steep and seemed to go down a long time. The flashlight seemed to become even dimmer as Damien descended down into the bowels of the house, until it became about as effective as holding a jar of fireflies for light. The stairs were made of cement, and so there was no eerie creaking as Damien walked down them, but there was a muffled thump each time one of his feet came down on a step. As quiet as he tried to make his footsteps, there was always a faint scuffling as he made his way down into the basement. The steps were covered in decades’ worth of dirt and dust and chips of something whitish. Maybe plaster, maybe stone. Damien didn’t really want to think about the possibilities.  
He almost tripped as he reached the bottom of the steps. The flashlight had all but gone out, and Damien hadn’t even noticed that the stairs had ended. He flailed his arms for balance, feeling chilly air brush past his face as he windmilled. The flashlight was flung from his hand in the process. The clatter it made as it hit the floor and rolled just about stopped Damien’s heart and he froze in place, feeling like a hare which may or may not have been spotted laying low in the field by some predator. He even held his breath, listening.   
Nothing.   
Hesitantly, almost blindly, Damien walked forward into the basement. He bumped into the sharp edge of some sort of table and cried out softly in pain, taking a swift and shuffling step away from it. As he continued to walk forward, his way was clear for what was probably a couple feet but felt like several miles. Damien’s harsh breathing sounded incredibly loud in his ears, accompanied by the rushing of blood from his pounding heart. His hands were extended out in front of him, and he felt nothing but the chilly, stagnant air for what must have been an eternity. Then his left hand brushed something which felt a little coarse and a little rough. A hoarse cry of shock was ripped from Damien’s throat as he jumped back, stumbling and falling over this time around. His elbow smacked something hard, and he let out a second cry, this one of pain. Scrambling backwards from whatever he’d hit, Damien sat on the ground. He was panting and his eyes were wide and fearful.  
In the darkness, there was a low grinding sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air around Damien. The grinding rapidly transformed into a high-pitched growl, then into an incredibly loud shriek like that of metal on metal. Damien grit his teeth and covered his ears with his hands, now squinting through the darkness as if trying to see what was making the horrendous noise.   
A bright green spark like a firefly flickered before him for an instant, then disappeared. All the hair on Damien’s arms rose as a latticework of electricity, all brilliant acid green, started up before his eyes. It burned across his eyesight, painfully bright after the darkness he’d been trapped in for the last couple hours. It was like watching dozens of bolts of lightning strike all at once.   
The grinding metal shriek had gotten higher, but it had become less tinny and more full; it sounded like a shriek of someone in unimaginable pain. Just as Damien thought that he wouldn’t be able to take any more of the horrible noise boring into his skull, it dropped off suddenly. The bolts of electricity, which Damien now realised were arranged in a vaguely circular formation, dulled slightly and began to swirl. There was now only a low bass rumble that Damien felt more than heard. It seemed to shake the entire house from its very foundation, and it vibrated in his chest, making his teeth chatter. It was an ominous noise, like the deep roll of thunder before an intense storm.   
Damien felt like something was about to happen. It would be something big, something more terrifying than anything else that had happened to him so far, and in his state of tense fear he was paralyzed. As the waiting bore on and on, it seemed like the low rumbling from the swirling of green ahead of him was becoming steadily louder. With a jolt, Damien realized that he could now catch glimpses of faces flashing by, mouths open in silent screams and red eyes glinting in anger or pain. Damien couldn’t tell by the brief glimpses that he got.   
All of a sudden, the light from the swirling mass in front of him dimmed, and the bassy rumble died down. There was several moments of silence, even more tense and anxiety-wracking than those moments when the deep growling shook the house. Slowly, with a sound like scraping sandpaper, something moved up towards the swirling green film. The form rippled, as if being seen from above the water, and Damien’s heart seemed to stop briefly as it paused just beyond the swirling green.   
The thing lunged from beyond the green film, hissing in a surprisingly low, sinister tone. It’s eyes glowed a bright, acid green- just like that oozing slime from the sink tap, Damien thought vaguely- and its lips were pulled back from sharp fangs.   
Damien gasped, stumbling backwards. The thing pulled itself forward from the swirling green mass, floating several inches above the ground. A thick, black tail, like some monstrous snake, thrashed behind it. In a panic, Damien was still almost sitting on the ground and scrambling back from the thing in an awkward crab walk. He again bumped into the first thing he’d hit, the thing that had caused him to stumble into the steel doors which had opened. Eyes wide in horror, Damien looked back to see Jaiden slumped unconscious against the wall. There was a gash on his head. Blood dripped slowly down his face, and dried blood had clumped in his black hair, and Damien noticed a gleam of red on the edge of the nearest steel table.   
Something hit him like a whip across his chest, sending him flying back into the table himself. Stars flashed across Damien’s vision for a couple seconds. Seeing a flash of glowing green streak across his vision as it cleared, Damien jumped to his feet and tried to run for the stairs, tripping over his own feet. He let out a nervous cough as he fell, scraping his knees on the grit on the floor. Then he jumped to his feet again and continued to run. 

 

Jaiden was still in the basement. Damien wasn’t sure whether he was just unconscious, or . . . well, he didn’t want to think about the alternative. The sleeve of his shirt was now matted with dried blood from his shoulder, and he was really starting to feel the sharp poke of splinters as they rubbed against his shirt. Damien was currently standing with his back against the door, which he thought might be the only way out if he could only get it unlocked, the fact that it was right behind him being comforting.   
And from the house, there was silence. If it was even possible, it seemed like the house had gotten darker since he’d last been standing by the door. Damien couldn’t even see his hand when he held it up in front of his face. He’d found the flashlight again as he’d run from the basement, picking it up without a second thought as he bolted. The flashlight had gone out the second time he’d fallen in his terrified run away from- whatever thing it had been that had come crawling out of that weird swirling green- but he held it in his hand anyway. It had some potential as a weapon, and the weight of the clunky old thing in Damien’s hand brought him some semblance of comfort.   
Somewhere deeper inside the house, a low and drawn-out creaking noise sounded. Once. Damien almost choked on his next gasping breath, his heart speeding up impossibly until it seemed to be pounding in his throat. He squeezed the flashlight he was holding until he worried it would break.   
There was another creak, a quieter one this time, a shorter one. It was followed by a soft, almost slithery noise, one that had a disturbingly wet edge. Damien’s mind brought up images of something being dragged across the floor, something limp that wouldn’t struggle, something that had blood pouring from a gash in its head . . .   
Damien just about fainted from the combination of these intrusive thoughts and from a sudden voice coming from the darkness: “Damien? Damien!”  
It was Jaiden’s voice. It had a concerning raspy edge, and when Damien listened harder he thought he could hear his friend’s breath and the rattling quality that it had.   
“Jaiden! I’m here! I’m by the door!” Damien yelled back, his fear briefly quelled by the relief that he felt about his friend being okay. Jaiden was coming towards him. They were together again, they could find a way out. Everything would be okay. Damien started to walk towards the sound of Jaiden’s voice, moving slowly, waving his hands in front of him so he wouldn’t bump into anything. A cobweb brushed his ankle and he almost shrieked. Then he laughed, a strangely high and breathless laugh, and continued making his way towards his friend.   
Suddenly, Damien could see the faint glow still coming from the kitchen sink basin. He must be close to Jaiden now, since his friend must have been in either the kitchen or the room just beyond when he’d called to Damien.   
“Hey Jaiden?” Damien called, realizing with a shock that the last couple of moments had been filled with silence. He froze in place and cocked his head to listen.  
Damien’s own voice echoed back to him faintly, and again he had the sense that it was mocking him; repeating his friend’s name back to him in unsettling whispers, growing more and more quiet with each echo until it faded away completely. And other than the echoes, there was nothing. No response.   
Stumbling, trying to turn and move back as quickly as possible at the same time, Damien suddenly realized that he shouldn’t be able to see into the kitchen from where he was standing. The doorway was offset. He was too far back. Damien tried to choke back a cry of terror and pain as he fell, his wrist bending back over the flashlight and his casted arm thumping against the ground. He released the flashlight, his only weapon oh god no, his hand going numb in the way that made sure to let Damien know that it would hurt later. It would hurt a lot later.  
There was that slithery, sandpaper-scraping noise again, and Damien thought, If I live long enough for there to be a later.   
Sssscrape.  
There was a flash of acid green, then Damien felt something sink sharp, hot fangs into the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I thought 'Magpie' was long
> 
> Posted a little early (usually it'll be Thursdays). 
> 
> I have a Tumblr if you guys want to see some DP art, it'll be random stuff mostly; thunderstorm-at-midnight


	18. Maternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Most times, mothers just know, at least a little  
> Genre: Horror/angst  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Slightly excessive gore

Something had been up with Danny for a long time. Maddie knew that this was a rather vague description for what was happening with her son, but to say that something was wrong with him didn’t seem quite fitting. She couldn’t tell if something was wrong. But Danny had certainly been acting differently over the last several months.  
Being a teenage boy, Danny had not been exactly cheery for a few years now. Maddie had assumed that this was simply a phase; that he’d pass through it quickly enough, and be back to the happy-go-lucky attitude that her son had had as a child. Even when it lasted a few years, Maddie hadn’t been worried. After all, Danny was still a teenager. He still had plenty of time to change, and change again.   
But this most recent development was really starting to worry her.  
Danny seemed only a little more closed off than usual. If she hadn’t been paying close attention to him (as his marks in school had been dropping around the same time), she might not even have noticed the change. But there were other things, much more obvious things. Like the fact that Danny barely ate anything anymore, or the dark circles under his eyes which were definitely much more pronounced than the average high schoolers’. Maddie would even say that they were more pronounced than they had been those few months ago, when Danny had been just about as fine as he could be.  
Whenever Maddie tried to gently question Danny, asking him if anything was wrong at school (or with his friends, perhaps?), he simply smiled tiredly and shook off the concerned inquiries. Maddie gave up fairly quickly after Danny simply refused to give her any answers beyond the usual, “School’s just hard right now” and “I’m just kinda tired”. As an experienced mother, however, Maddie could see almost right through her son. It was obvious the he was lying, and something was up, but she let it slide and wished that Danny were transparent enough that she could see what was bothering him.   
Whatever it was, it seemed to have gotten worse in the past week or so, even more than before. It often kept Maddie up at night now. She couldn’t sleep for the worry buzzing in her mind like a swarm of angry wasps, her violet eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The faint, greenish light of an alarm clock beside the bed that she shared with her husband illuminated Maddie’s glossy eyes. There was a certain blankness in the stare that could be associated with deep thought, and a crinkle in the brow of the ginger-haired woman that spoke of a deeply troubling problem being mentally picked away at.   
Whatever was bothering Danny had become something of a rotting carcass in Maddie’s mind, and however much she tore at the exposed bones of it, some deeper maternal instinct told her that there was something meatier just beyond her reach.   
In what had until that moment been a quiet night, a sudden noise from the hall almost stopped Maddie’s heart. It was soft, a kind of whispery noise, like something dragging on the carpet of the hall. The noise was not always audible, fading in and out of Maddie’s hearing like a voice being dragged on the wind, but the one thing that she was sure of about it was that it was moving towards Danny’s room.   
Maddie stood as quickly as she could without waking her husband, wincing at the quiet thump that her feet made on the bedroom floor. There was a final sound from the hall, an almost wet, squelchy one this time, and then there was silence. With her heart pounding in her throat and her mouth as dry as the inside of a coffin, Maddie opened the door to the hall and stepped out.   
She could only just hold back a strangled cry as she surveyed the hall. The walls were smeared with a thin layer of a gooey, oozing substance which was acid green- ectoplasm, Maddie knew, of course. It didn’t coat the walls entirely, but rather there were smears of it across the paint here and there. Small drops of the viscous liquid dripped thickly down the walls to plop into the carpet inaudibly. It was only as she watched a trickle of the faintly glowing substance run down the wall from a handprint (Maddie’s mind tried to piece something, anything, to the handprint, she thought she recognized the small palm the thin fingers what had happened to Danny-), that she realized that the carpet she was standing on had regular puddles of ectoplasm splashed across it. The thick liquid made standing on the rough carpet a very uncomfortable experience, with its slick texture over the rug fibres.  
Ignoring the icky feeling of ectoplasm pushing up between the toes of her bare feet, Maddie walked on down the hall. Her heart was pounding in a different way, much more panicky now; but she couldn’t quite describe it as pounding now. The frantic, erratic and too-fast beats were more fluttery, like the spasming wings of a trapped bird. Her mouth was still drier than ever, her tongue feeling like a lump of sandpaper in her mouth.   
Maddie tried to swallow as she approached the door to Danny’s room. It was open, surprisingly, and a copious amount of ectoplasm was smeared over its surface. It was as if some spectral being which had been gravely injured had stumbled into the door before plunging into the dark room beyond. The chilly liquid was pooled most thickly just beneath door, making a soft bubbling hiss as Maddie stepped into it.  
“Danny?” Maddie tried to call out to her son, but the dryness in her mouth seemed to have spread to her throat and she could barely managed a cracked whisper. There was a faint shuffling from the darkened room ahead of her.  
Steeling herself, Maddie pushed open the door. Ectoplasm clung like liquid frost to her fingers as she slowly, gently pushed the door open.  
She hadn’t been sure what she’d been expecting. But it had certainly not been this.  
“Mom,” Danny whispered, the tears dripping down his face illuminated in a green glow. The carpet in his room, also, was laden with pools of ectoplasm, and the raven-haired boy’s bed sheets were almost soaking in it. It gave the small room an eerie glow, as if some creeping phosphorescent fungus had begun to take over this area where Danny slept.  
The source of the ectoplasm was Danny himself. Several very deep-looking lacerations had been gashed into his chest somehow, and although Maddie knew that this was her son looking at her with wide and terrified blue eyes, there was no way that it could be her son. It was simply a thing, something which had been steadily taking over her son for months. Because it was not possible for any human to bleed the too-thick blood that ghosts were made up of, but somehow, her son was sitting before her. Bleeding ectoplasm.  
Her son. But not. But it looked like her son.  
“Oh, Danny,” Maddie whispered, feeling tears starting to fall from the corners of her eyes. How long ago had she really lost him? How long had this thing been taking him over? She wondered when she’d hugged her Danny for the last, when had been the last time that she’d told her son that she loved him.   
Maddie took a step back from the door. This thing, this abomination, it had to be destroyed. Anger swelled up in her, choking out the pain in her heart yet also feeding on it. Like oxygen would fuel a fire, but too much at once would kill the flames. The hurt that was building inside her could render the anger useless if she wasn’t careful. She couldn’t think too much if she wanted to take any sort of quick action. She had to get to the lab before the thing realized that she’d noticed that it was not her son. She had to kill it before it killed all of them.  
“Mom,” the thing sitting on Danny’s bed repeated, and Maddie had to close her eyes for a moment at the fear and the pain in that familiar voice. It sounded just like Danny, but this wasn’t her son. It couldn’t be.   
When Maddie had opened her eyes again, the thing had stood up. If she’d been swayed at all by hearing the raw emotion in the voice which was so like her son’s, this was what held her resolution solid. The thing had sustained wounds that no human could ever hope to survive; grisly loops of intestines hung from the lowest wound, one slashed into the thing’s stomach. The ropy organs swung faintly as the thing swayed, seeming unbalanced, and a small spray of ectoplasm splattered thickly to the carpeted floor.   
Holding one hand tightly over her mouth, Maddie finally was able to swallow thickly. The acid that had risen in the back of her throat burned all the way down, leaving an unpleasantly hot sensation behind. The thing in Danny’s room watched her through blue eyes full of terror, and they looked much, much too human for her liking. A shock jolted through Maddie, causing her heart to flutter again faintly, as she suddenly picked up on the low whimpering noise that the creature was making. It sounded so pitiful that Maddie hesitated yet again, unsure of what exactly was stopping her from running to the basement lab and grabbing some sort of weapon to be done with this creature. It could be how the thing looked so heartbroken, so lost, so scared for its life. More likely, it was all of that and also the fact that these emotions were displayed across a face which held the exact likeness of her only son.   
The motherly side of her brain and heart cried out as she turned, but she knew that she had to get to the basement. She had to kill this thing. Her son was gone, and she couldn’t kid herself that she could get him back.  
Maddie nearly screamed aloud at the sight of the dark figure in the hallway. It was only the initial shock that would have ripped the cry of panic from her, because with the glow in the hall and the way that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness Maddie knew who the figure was.   
Standing there quietly, in all of her night-clothed, ginger-haired glory, was Jazz. There were dark circles under the eyes of the eldest Fenton child as well, and a deep wrinkle in her brow. Jazz’s teal eyes glittered wetly.  
“You can’t do it, Mom,” Jazz said quietly, taking step forward. “This is Danny. I know what you’re thinking, but . . .”  
Jazz stole a glance through the open doorway into Danny’s room, her eyes skittering over the glowing smears and drips and puddles of ectoplasm. She wondered what had taken both her children from her, and when.   
“It’s Danny,” she finished.   
Maddie wanted so badly to believe that it was true. The mother in her was crying out for her children, and wanted like nothing else to disbelieve that both her children were still just as they’d been before all the odd things had begun. Looking over her shoulder into the darkened room she’d been about to leave behind, the violet-eyed woman felt tears streaming down her face anew. The ectoplasm coating her bare feet and ankles had begun to dry, adhering to the warmth of her skin.   
“How long has he been gone, Jazz?” Maddie asked in a broken whisper, still looking back over her shoulder. How long have you been gone, Jazz, her mind echoed back to her, distorting the question a little. Some hopeful place in her heart was wilting.  
“He’s never left,” Jazz responded, her voice soft but firm. “It is Danny. Please, Mom. Please.”  
The question was not quite obvious, the many implications of the plea hanging thickly in the air between the two like heavy fog. Maddie could plead with herself to believe it, to do something about it, to help. She thought of how Danny would smile at her to reassure her that he was okay, how Jazz would ruffle the dark hair of her younger brother affectionately. Her heart spasmed frantically, as it had been doing often that night, the pulse of hot blood which spread out from it bringing something which was both frightening and calming. Maddie needed to be a mother, in this moment, more than anything else. First and foremost, that was what she was. Here were her children. Here was her choice.  
Again swallowing down the thin acid which had been steadily rising up her throat, Maddie studied Danny. His wounds had begun to close, the intestines hanging down the bottom-most gash quivering as they were sucked back into the cavity like spaghetti into a hungry mouth. The image, the thought, brought a small wave of bile into Maddie’s mouth. Her throat burned, her eyes burned and her vision blurred, her mind still buzzed with panic and worry.   
Against her better judgement, she stepped softly into Danny’s room.


	19. All the Possibilities in the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Sometimes all we have are the 'maybes' in life  
> Genre: Angst  
> Rating: Like low T??  
> Warnings: li'l bit of gore, character death

Life was full of maybes, Danny reflected as he tried to push down the pain which had been steadily rising within him. Maybe this night would last forever, and he could make it home. Maybe he’d see his friends again, his family. Maybe everything would turn out okay for him.  
Danny knew, however, from the almost numbing quality of the pain, three things: that it was coming from some sort of very severe injury, that he would feel it very soon in its fullest, and that he would not feel it for very long. This is what the cool, logical side of his brain was telling him, but Danny didn’t want to believe it. He could go on ignoring the pain for just a little while longer. Maybe forever, if he wondered enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  
Beyond the thin, black branches of the trees that stretched into the sky like grasping fingers, it was a clear night. So far out in the forest, the night sky was stunningly bright, and Danny could even see the one spiral arm of the milky way that was slashed across the sky. It was pale but gorgeous and speckled with brilliant stars. It seemed like such a small, easy sort of luxury, but it was one thing that Danny would miss greatly.   
He could hardly breath anymore, and each gasping rush of air through his failing lungs heaved a frosty trail of breath into the night air. Lit by the crescent moon, the breath would linger for a moment or two, glimmering as though with starlight, and then would disappear. The landscape was also lit up softly, but there were two contrasting light sources. One was the light of the moon. The other, Danny didn’t want to think about, because part of his brain refused to accept that it was true.   
Danny thought that he could sit in the light of the orangey moon forever, feeling the wind whisper around his ears. It was just chilly enough to be refreshing, but it did carry the bite of a wintery frost on it. Like a dark promise for the cold season to come. Maybe he could sit on the crinkly carpet of leaves forever, his gaze held firmly up towards the stars, but even in such a beautiful night where all the conditions seemed perfect, Danny had to eventually come down to the fact of it.   
As much as he imagined that the leaves upon which he sat were still crunchy and dry, they had began to dampen; in fact, they were starting to become soaked. The clear night had not a single cloud in the sky, but anyone would know right away that whatever was soaking the leaves was not water. It was becoming uncomfortable very swiftly for Danny, who could no longer deny the sticky, oozing liquid that ran in thick droplets down his chest and stomach. It was the glow that countered the moonlight, the second glow which was acid green rather than silvery-orange. And the viscous, blood-like substance that emitted the glow was starting to dry in clumps, sticking the leaves together and pasting them to Danny’s jeans.   
A single thin cloud drifted slowly over the moon, and as the raven-haired teen sitting on the ground below closed his eyes delicately, a tear ran down his face. The pain had become something which could no longer be ignored. It wracked Danny’s body, sending white-hot, sharp stabs through his abdomen. And he also felt cold, so, so cold.   
Spots like static were swiftly overtaking Danny’s vision, the forest wavering in and out of focus before his eyes. If he had any consolation at all, it was the fact that a numbness was beginning to spread inwards from his fingertips. He could only hope that it would spread quickly, to swirl him down away from the horrible pain in his chest and stomach.  
Through the bad-signal pops and spots in his vision, Danny could see that the scene of himself was grisly. He didn’t want to think about the slimy coils of guts spilling from the deep lacerations across his abdomen. Or the ectoplasm steadily pooling around his jean-clad legs, the flow of which was starting to slow down. This might have concerned him if it had been happening a few minutes earlier, but his mind was beginning to go fuzzy around the edges. The hazy view of the world that he now had was much calmer, and he could feel the beating of his heart slowing. The tiny, almost fluttery pumps seemed leisurely now, as if the vital organ could simply not be bothered to beat anymore.  
Any thoughts that were making their way through Danny’s brain passed slowly, almost floating their way through, as if they were passing through the cosmos. Each one seemed to take an eternity to be considered and then to vanish, but they also seemed to take no time at all as soon as they were gone. Vaguely, so vaguely, as if Danny were now experiencing the world through a veil, he realized that his nose was bleeding thinly. Chilly ectoplasm dripped into his slightly open mouth, but the normally gritty texture seemed faraway and dull. Danny couldn’t be bothered to care about a sensation he’d normally be repulsed by.   
Bile rose sluggishly and heavily in Danny’s throat, the taste of it the realest thing he’d experienced after the static had overtaken his vision. It was strong, but even something as vile as the liquid rising in his throat could be felt strongly by him for only a moment or two. That moment or two was enough to imprint the taste of it into his quickly failing mind, a salty-sour taste that burned his nose for a simple second.   
It tastes like death, Danny thought, even as his thoughts began to blur together and his body began to slump. He’d thought he’d tasted it a million times before, after particularly bad battles, after being very sick. Always the same thought. Death, it tastes like death.  
When the mind shuts down, it doesn’t want to think about the fact that it is shutting down. Danny’s last thoughts were not of how the salty-sour-licked-a-penny taste of sickly death was flooding his mouth, but they were of maybes. Infinite maybes.   
In a world so full of possibility, Danny thought, Maybe. I could have something. There is something, something more. Maybe was the last word that came from his mind before it shut down conscious thought and drifted up to the universe.  
Maybe.


	20. Milk Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Some fluff with Dani & Val  
> Rating: Low T, for a l'il bit of swearing  
> Genre: Fluff
> 
> You guys deserve a break from the angst and death

A particularly sharp kick to the gut sent Valerie skidding backwards, the black woman wheezing slightly as she dropped into a defensive crouch. The blow had not quite knocked the breath out of her, due to the protective foam pads strapped across her abdomen and limbs, but it had been unexpected. Those kinds of kicks were not usually Dani’s sparring style.  
The small and rather thin woman almost always used her bony limbs to her advantage; an elbow or knee to the gut was to be expected. Dani would even use her shoulders or head from time to time. But she was much less inclined to blows on the level of punches or kicks. Valerie supposed it was good for Dani to change her fighting style a little, now and then. Adaptability was important, or your enemies would see your every move long before you acted, and the fight could never turn out in your favour.  
Dani didn’t often change up her arsenal of moves, however. And Valerie was rarely the one thrown back from the force of certain hits.  
The blue-eyed woman was also in a defensive stance, watching Valerie with a soft smirk and a satisfied glint in her eyes. Valerie was glad to know that she’d taught the halfa something throughout their many sparring sessions. Although Dani had a height advantage (only at the moment, when Valerie was crouched), it would be awkward for her to attack. Valerie had a coiled posture which would give her more strength and fluidity.  
Eyes flickering quickly over Dani, gauging whether the woman would see her finally strike, Valerie lunged forward and delivered a sweeping kick to Dani’s shins. The impact was much harder than Valerie would have anticipated, the area that she’d aimed for being one of the few where there was a lack of foam padding. Dani was swept off her feet and landed hard on the carpeted floor. A brilliant flash of green light signified a transformation into her ghost half, something that Valerie had witnessed both Dani and her ‘twin’ do when they were surprised or frightened. A sort of defensive reflex.  
It was a combination of the jarring shock which had traveled through Valerie’s leg upon impact, Dani’s transformation, and the high-pitched squeaking noise she’d uttered upon falling that told Valerie she’d struck the other woman much too hard. Starting to kneel beside the half-ghost, Valerie exclaimed, “Shit, Dani, I’m sorry!”  
“It’s fine,” Dani mumbled, beginning to push herself up from her former sprawled position on the floor. She still looked a little shell-shocked, her eyes wider than usual.  
“Uh, really? I hit you pretty hard, didn’t I . . .”  
Valerie bit her lip lightly, hesitating. She was watching Dani with worry in her eyes, not only because of the fear that she’d hurt the smaller woman, but because damn, would Dani . . . well, hate was a strong word, as they said. But Valerie’s fear was something along those lines.  
For the second time in the sparring session, Valerie was thrown backwards a little. It was much more gently this time, simply rocking the dark-skinned woman where she stood rather than physically shoving her back. Still in her ghost form, floating about a foot off the floor, Dani had leapt into Valerie. The halfa wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s chest.  
“No, it’s okay,” Dani reaffirmed, smiling at Valerie. She still had to look up at the green-eyed woman, even floating off the ground.  
Valerie smiled back hesitantly, the worry still lingering in her eyes clearly being noticeable to Dani, who giggled quietly and peppered the underside of Valerie’s jaw with little kisses. Valerie couldn’t help but grin at this, putting her arms around the smaller woman. She thought of Tucker, who she’d somehow grown to stand the presence of, although he’d been insufferable before. Tucker had told her a few times, a little guiltily, about how he’d always thought of Danny as a cat. Danny’s mischievous, smooth and slightly aloof personality, he’d said, was what had done it. Not to mention the fact that apparently the half-ghost purred. Which Valerie found a little weird, but whatever.  
But she thought, if Danny was a cat, then his genetic clone would be a dog. Dani, with her wide, sparkling eyes, and her affectionate, excitable personality, would immediately bring a labrador puppy to Valerie’s mind. Now, holding the small woman in her arms and listening to her giggle, this thought was reinforced. Dani was still giving her soft kisses and thet her spectral tail whipped back and forth the way it always did when she was happy. It was now thudding softly against Valerie’s leg.  
“Okay, okay,” Valerie said quietly, still smiling at her girlfriend. She kissed the halfa softly, who then nuzzled into her chest. “Let’s just watch a movie or something now, how about that?”  
Dani nodded enthusiastically, curling her ghost tail around Valerie’s leg. Smiling, the dark-skinned woman carried the halfa to the living room of their shared house.


	21. The Third Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny's been missing for awhile . . .   
> Rating: Like low T, kinda horror  
> Genre: Horror
> 
> A Halloween spam coming up

It had been three days since Danny had gone on his last patrol. It was one of his more regular duties, and he rarely skipped it. Oftentimes, nothing happened and Danny would be back before midnight. But this time it was different.  
Three days, and Danny still hadn’t come back. Jazz had called and texted his phone more times than she could count, but there had been no response. All the calls went straight to voicemail and the texts were left unanswered. As Jazz watched her phone where it sat on the kitchen table, the screen lit up, she felt she was in a place almost beyond worry. When Danny hadn’t been back by midnight she’d been worried. When he hadn’t been back by the next day she’d been utterly panicked. Today . . . today seemed surreal. An odd calm had come over Jazz, and she wasn’t sure how or why. But the panic seemed displaced from her somehow.  
The red-haired teen sighed, squeezing her eyes shut briefly. She brushed her hand along the edge of the kitchen table, trying to root herself back into the world, but the slightly uneven wood grain only seemed to make everything feel a little more grey around the edges. When Jazz opened her eyes, she thought for a moment that she’d faint. Grabbing the edge of the table, she managed to keep herself upright.   
Her phone rang suddenly, shattering the silence. Despite how sudden the noise was, Jazz didn’t jump. She simply glanced over at the phone a little listlessly, the device still blaring its obnoxious ringtone and vibrating against the table. The only reaction she had was not very visible, but Jazz swore her heart leapt into her throat when she read the caller ID. Hands trembling with relief, the teen girl reached for the phone. It was Danny, finally! He was going to get a major scolding in a minute or two, but she had to take some time first to be glad that he was okay.  
A smile was working its way onto her face as Jazz exclaimed, “Danny! You-”  
“Er- really sorry Jazz, but this is Tucker,” a quiet voice from the other end of the line responded.   
Jazz felt as if someone had dropped a pound of lead into her stomach. With panic and fear finally spilling into her system again, seeming to coil up in her throat, she couldn’t say a word for several moments.   
“I- what?” Jazz’s voice broke, although her eyes were still weirdly dry. “Why do you have Danny’s phone . . . ?”  
“Well- you know, obviously- Danny han’t come home from patrol, and we just found his phone on the ground, and, and, it’s kinda cracked-”  
Jazz had to cut Tucker off before he really started rambling. She could hear emotions mimicking hers in his voice; panic, worry and a touch of disbelief. Everything still had that surreal edge to it, but at the same time the events that were unfolding around her were beginning to seem uncomfortably real. If even Danny’s best friends hadn’t seen him . . .   
“Okay,” she said quietly. Her words had a hollow undertone to them, and a sort of ringing quality, as if they were being said by someone else, someone who’d been recorded on a bad audio tape. Almost of their own accord, Jazz’s feet started to move down the hall from the kitchen. The lightly muffled taps of her own footsteps gave her a shock of anxiety and that startlingly real feeling. The hallway was like one from a nightmare, stretching on forever but infinitely too short all at the same time, and a little faded around the edges.   
Tucker’s voice, raddled now by static, came from the tinny speaker of her phone. “Jazz? Are you still there?”  
The red-haired teen didn’t respond, letting the phone fall slowly to her side. Her hair swished lightly behind her back, creating a soft whisper of noise that for some reason added to the nervousness pooling low in her stomach. The house seemed much too quiet all of a sudden. It was as if it were holding in a tense breath, waiting for something to happen.  
The door to the basement grew steadily larger in Jazz’s vision. Its peeling paint seemed to flicker before her eyes, blurring as she approached, and static briefly overtook her vision when she reached for the handle.   
“Hello? Jazz?!” Tucker’s voice crackled from the phone that Jazz now held near her hip. He sounded wrought with anxiety now, speaking loud enough that Jazz could hear his words even though she no longer held the phone to her ear. She didn’t respond still. It was like a nightmare where she couldn’t speak.  
The doorknob felt unusually cold under Jazz’s hand, almost stinging to the touch. When she pushed open the door, the well-oiled hinges didn’t creak, but the low hiss of noise that came from the bottom of the door scraping the ground gave enough of a creepy ambient noise as it was. The simple cement stairs that led into the low-lit basement glowed with their usual faint green light, cast by the ectoplasm samples that Jazz and Danny’s parents had a few of. But something seemed oddly more sinister about it this afternoon.   
The teen girl descended the steps, tiny chips of stone that had been gradually worn from the steps over the years digging into the soles of her feet. The basement lab was always much cooler than the rest of the house, a consequence of storing ectoplasm in an already subterranean environment. It only occurred to Jazz when she was nearly at the bottom of the stairs that she’d forgotten to turn on the light. She glanced back over her shoulder, but there was that tug of anxiety low in her stomach still, and she didn’t think she could stand going all the way back up those stairs than walking down into the basement again. In any case, Jazz though that turning on the lights would do little for the sinister atmosphere that the basement lab had.  
It was still very silent in the lab. Jazz thought of the layers and layers of dirt that were above her head at the very moment, closing her into the lab like a coffin. They’d trap out the sound incredibly well. She shivered, goosebumps popping up on her arms.   
Despite the silence, there seemed to be a low, bass-y pulse that rumbled through the bones of the house. It was almost too deep to hear. Jazz mostly felt it, like an electric shiver in the air, sending chills down her spine and quickening her breathing. The air felt sour and constricting in her lungs, and Jazz knew without a doubt that something awful was going to happen.  
A low rumble moved through the air. Jazz took a step forward, cringing a little. Her sock feet made a whisper of noise on the cement floor. There was silence for many seconds. Jazz held her breath, feeling like the air might choke her with its suddenly heavy quality.  
Something stirred across the lab, and the glow that cast everything acid green rippled with the movement. Heart thudding in her throat, Jazz walked towards the movement, her eyes wide. The bass rumble moved through the very foundation of the house. Jazz’s face was pale as ice in the soft green glow.  
It was like a containment tank. Thick, metallic tubes wove back from the top of it into some dark place in the lab. As Jazz pressed her hands against it, dropping her phone to the floor with a faint clatter and a tinkle as the screen shattered, it froze her skin to the glass. She gasped quietly, but the tears that were running down her face were not from the pain of this. That pain paled in comparison to the static in her mind that gave everything that unreal-but-surreal feel that she’d had too often for the last two days.  
The thing in the glass stirred again. It brushed across where Jazz’s hands rested, freezing against the curved pane. It was smoky, pale, only a little darker than the almost pastel-green liquid in which it floated. A slightly more concentrated area of acid green pulsed in the center of the foggy mass, beating almost like an irregular heart in time with the bass-y rumbling.   
Jazz jumped as she heard her father’s voice ringing out from behind her. Her hands tore away from the icy cold glass and she whimpered softly at the stinging.  
“Like it, Jazzypants? We finally caught that Phantom, got a real good look at what ghosts are made of! This is what they look like stripped down!”


	22. Ectomolecular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: A little more caution should be used when experimenting on foreign beings  
> Rating: T for a bit of gore  
> Genre: Horror

From the scientific documentations of Madeline “Maddie” Fenton.

Patient no. 01

Subject wore black jumpsuit, black; white sleeves white boots & collar  
(jotted in pen: doesn’t it seem familiar jack i’m probably just imagining it)

Fig. 1 Presence of organ systems? Presence of ‘blood’(?) Pupil dilation strong

1.1 Simple digestive and nervous system. No findings of lungs or heart

1.2 Overall a complex being, in terms of spectral creatures. Indications of a sort of cardiac system. Ectoplasm is a ghostly equivalent to blood (scrawled in pen: ‘matches the theories Jack!!!’) Still no heart

1.3 Ghost Boy had some consciousness before the experiments. Strong pupil reactivity. Contract to pinpoints in flashlight beam

Fig. 2 Full powers TBD. Consistent ectoplasm flow ceased 23:02. Unknown ectoplasm system discovered.

2.1 Ghost Boy unconsciously froze the table, time 23:00. Evidence of strong powers. Perhaps most powerful ghost so far encountered

2.2 Incisions no longer ‘bleed’ regularly. Some ectoplasm can be coaxed from the wounds if prodded. Flow seems to have greatly diminished or ceased. Body may fade soon (note between the margins: ‘already staying solid longer than most’)

2.3 Perhaps source of ectoplasm. Glowing even under the fluorescents, pulsing almost like a heart. If it is that, it is misplaced. Sensation similar to standing near a nuclear generator when approached with a scalpel

Fig. 3 Unknown ectoplasmic system has not ceased its pulse. Will investigate with scalpel. Perhaps removal of the system will be suitable.

3.1 Resembles a sickly green sun. It pulses and roils although it gives off a frigid chill. Might be pure, raw ectoplasm (!!!!)

3.2 Scalpel shakes as it approaches unknown system. Feels charged like a nuclear generator, causes one’s hair to stand on end. It seems to become agitated as the scalpel approa c (any possible notes beyond this are charred past the point of comprehension)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one a lot, the format's a little different but it's nice


	23. Autumn Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: A loop in autumn time  
> Rating: Low T for very mild violence  
> Genre: Angst

Few rain drops actually managed to make it through the canopy above Danny’s head, but the ones that did came down hard. The drops were large and it didn’t take long for them to soak through Danny’s hair. He had a strong dislike for the feeling of the mildly warm water sliding down his neck, and he would turn intangible every time that his hair became wet enough for that to happen. The water would drop through his body to the ground in a small flood and Danny’s hair would once again become a fluffy mess of wild white hair.  
It had been raining for the last couple days. The storm had seemed to rush along the autumn season, turning the leaves brilliant red and gold and driving them from their branches. In the thin rivulets of water running into the storm drains, it was common to see brightly-coloured leaves riding the flow like miniature boats.  
Where Danny floated in the forest, the rain seemed to make everything somehow brighter even though the clouds obscured much of the light from the sun. The fall leaves were like fire as the ghost teen made his way along his evening patrol.  
A soft whistling noise from behind Danny was the only thing that alerted him to the attack. He was able to dodge out of the way as his keen ears honed in on the noise, and a blast of red-pink electric energy shot by him, grazing his side. Danny hissed as it left a small burn. The injury was small enough that it healed almost immediately, luckily for him. Unluckily, he recognized the shot of ecto-energy, and not only would he have to fight with Vlad but he’d been hoping to get home without a hitch today.  
Danny pulled his legs to his chest and rolled to the left, dodging another blast that flew past with the same soft whistling noise as the first. Righting himself, the teen flew forward and fired an ecto blast of his own. The bright green energy hit Vlad in the shoulder and the older halfa was thrown back in the air a little. With a snarling noise, Vlad flew swiftly forward towards the ghost boy that was his adversary.  
The two had engaged in many fights over the years, and neither had changed their attack routines much. They each moved swiftly and smoothly, as if performing a dance, one which would only work if each knew which move the other would perform. It was with trained excellence that one would fire an energy blast, and the other would dodge and thus avoid serious energy. Danny, being the smaller of the two, moved easily between the surprisingly tall saplings while they simply slowed Vlad down. Vlad’s advantage came from his longer years as a halfa. Danny’s shots had the swift and almost reckless nature of one who is only field-trained. Vlad’s shots had a certain finesse and ease, speaking of lengthy, refined training. It was something of a game for the two of them. In the forest, they seemed to be perfectly matched opponents.  
Neither of the two had suffered any sort of real injury until Danny attempted a particularly tight turn between two small birch trees. One branch scraped a thin cut along his face, and another ripped the neck of his jumpsuit and caught. Danny’s flight was halted unceremoniously and a considerable amount of water from the trees leaves’ showered him. Before he could work to free himself, a powerful energy blast hit him squarely in the back and knocked the air out of him even as he was propelled forward. Several branches whipped Danny’s face, leaving small cuts, and a larger branch which smacked his nose left behind a pain so cold it was almost hot.  
Danny landed on his back and skidded, yelping at the stinging pain that ripped up his back. He growled under his breath and fired off two rapid shots of ecto-energy in desperation. He’d been hurt surprisingly badly, but he wasn’t sure whether Vlad would halt the fight. He’d have to defend himself until he did know.  
Vlad easily dodged the two blasts that Danny had fired off. The spectral teen could feel a thick trail of ectoplasm dripping down over his lip and thought that his nose was likely broken. Putting his gloved hands together, his lips pulled back from his teeth, Danny shot a double blast towards the older halfa. He felt a small twinge of satisfaction as Vlad cried out, but as the halfa fell beside Danny the white-haired teen realized that ectoplasm had dripped into his mouth. The taste was as gritty and bitter as the regret that immediately followed his brief satisfaction.  
Danny could hear Vlad’s ragged, hollow breathing from beside him as images flashed through his brain. He suddenly knew that they’d been in this situation a million times before. Each time, they’d think that it would be different and they’d make the right decisions. They always agreed to try again, to start it all over. And each time they made the same decisions, ones which ended with them lying on the ground on a rainy October evening.  
The damp leaves were squelchy but soft under Danny’s back. The rain which was still coming down made the dirt release its fragrance, which was rich and fresh. Danny breathed in, closing his eyes, hearing the wet rattle of his own breathing. The wet, the cold, the pain, these sensations were all beginning to fade. Danny looked over to Vlad with an immense effort, his eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay open.  
“Ready to make all the wrong choices all over again?” Danny asked, his voice a rasping whisper.  
Vlad gave a single, wet cough in response, which might have been an attempt at a bitter laugh. Danny finally let his eyes close, a final breath leaving his still-bleeding nose. It was so cold that it fogged even in the chilly autumn air.  
Their bodies vanished slowly as a cloud of mist went up. It was diffused gradually by the lukewarm rain, which seemed to be letting up a little. If anyone had been around to witness the foggy cloud, they might have said that it had an odd green tinge, but would have also agreed that it might have been only the misting rain coming down through the early-autumn leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that's it!
> 
> Sending some spooky autumn vibes your way~
> 
> Happy Halloween!


	24. Shield Mechanics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny's parents may not be the best of ghost hunters, but some of their inventions work the way they intended . . . unfortunately  
> Rating: T, for somewhat graphic violence/gore  
> Genre: Horror  
> Warnings: Gore

The blaring of Danny’s bedside alarm clock woke him, much too early in his opinion. It was one he likely shared with just about every other student, he thought. Danny’s palm came down on the clock’s off button and he buried his head in his pillow for just a moment. Then, with a groan, he lifted his face from the soft warmth of the pillow and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. The numbers flashing on the alarm clock read 7:45; Danny supposed he’d slept through his first two alarms. Oh well, he needed some sleep. That night had already been better than most, void of the nightly ghost fights that usually kept him up almost until dawn. It had been his first proper rest for at least a month.  
Knowing Sam and Tucker would be expecting him outside soon, Danny threw on his usual jeans and mostly plain shirt as quickly as he could and ran down the stairs. He slid into the kitchen on his socks, toast popping conveniently out of the toaster as he passed. The teen grabbed one of the slices and started walking towards the door.  
Jazz lightly smacked the top of his head as he passed, giving him a mock-angry glare for stealing her toast. Danny took a huge bite and gave his sister his most angelic smile. His mother lightly chided him for sliding down the hall. He muttered, “Sorry, mom” in response, his mouth full of the toast that he was gobbling down before he reached the door.  
Both of Danny’s parents were seated at the kitchen table. Danny’s father was squinting intensely at the morning paper, a half-full cup of coffee beside his right elbow, and his mother seemed to be starting up a blueprint sketch for some new invention. Sitting slightly askew between them was the finished blueprint for something which looked vaguely umbrella-shaped. Danny could only wonder what his parents would use an object like that for- a shield perhaps? Though what they’d need such a weak-looking shield for, Danny wasn’t sure. He hoped that they weren’t seriously hurting any ghosts. He felt uneasy at the thought, although he was a little reassured by the fact that his parents had never really done any harm. If he was honest, the only thing really stopping them was their skill level, which was not as high as they’d probably like.  
Danny called his farewells over his shoulder as he strode towards the front door. His shoes, which were as of yet unlaced, made brisk tapping noises on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. For some reason, something felt vaguely off to him. Wondering briefly if he was late for school, Danny glanced down at the digital watch on his wrist. The time read 7:52. He certainly wasn’t late for school, or even for meeting his friends outside the door. Danny shrugged the feeling away. At least his ghost sense hadn’t gone off.  
However, as he walked towards the door, the feeling that something was off- no, wrong- became stronger. He was still trying to ignore the feeling, but it was lodging itself up into his throat, almost choking him. A tingling feeling had started up in his fingertips. The closer that Danny got to the door, the stronger that the feeling got, going up from tingling to pins and needles to something that Danny couldn’t quite identify but which almost rattled his teeth. He paused, noticing for the first time that his heart was pounding in his chest and the ever-present ghost core opposite it was fluttering like a caged bird.  
“Danny? Is everything okay?” His mother’s voice made him jump, and he was glad that he didn’t cry out.  
“Y-yeah, fine, I just thought I forgot my homework for a second,” Danny responded, shaking his head suddenly as an idea occurred to him. He thought that something was wrong with Sam and Tucker. Maybe this was some weird new power, this sort of intuition. If so, it was strong and getting stronger.  
Danny started forward again, almost jogging toward the door. His ghost core pulsed, the chill that it sent out robbing Danny of breath for a moment. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood up, and it seemed to be not from the chill but from something else. The air seemed charged all of a sudden, like the air just before a thunderstorm struck. Danny’s mind seemed fuzzy and grey as he opened the door.  
“DANNY! NO! STOP!” Jazz’s voice shrieked from somewhere behind him just before a pain like nothing he’d ever felt before ripped through his chest. An incredible pressure exploded out away from him, seeming to take the pain away with it, and Danny heard several plip noises like particularly heavy raindrops hitting a glass window. He barely had time to hear the screaming from behind him, or to raise a hand to his chest. Shock stole terror away from him as he felt the inconceivable not-there that was once his chest. Frost-cold ectoplasm hit his hand in a wild spurt before his mind fell from the bright white of agony into a calm and painless void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes you might recognise this idea as being almost directly stolen from Stephen King


	25. Static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but sometimes old sayings are a recipe for disaster  
> Rating: T, for some violence  
> Genre: Horror/angst  
> Warnings: mild gore

Ignoring the ever-so-slow trickle of freezing ectoplasm down his front wasn’t difficult. Danny had noticed early on that most injuries go unnoticed in the heat of a fight, especially when one is losing and adrenaline is taking over the system. This was a slightly worse wound than most that were inflicted on him during battles, but he was pretty sure he’d had worse. It burned a little, sure, but overall it wasn’t a big deal. Danny could fight past it until he won over the rogue ghost which had attacked the town this time.  
Said ghost happened to be Skulker, who really should have been an easy opponent. The two ghosts had had many battles over the years. Danny thought that he knew most, if not all of Skulker’s battles tactics by heart. But a new move had caught him off guard. A whip-like weapon had caught him across his stomach, going so far as even throwing him out of the air. Danny was pretty sure he’d heard something snap as he’d come down, but the adrenaline had been kicking in by that point and he hadn’t really felt anything. Or felt very much since.  
The fight had been rather long-winded for the fact that it was with one of his older opponents, but as soon as Danny had been injured badly it had started to wind down quickly. Adrenaline felt cold as frost when Danny was a ghost, and it left him feeling unusually cool-headed and reckless. His moves seemed, to him, to be more refined, and he dodged the attacks much more easily than he might have. Danny’s blows even seemed more accurate and powerful. The chill pulsing through his veins seemed to thrum in time with his ghost core, and as he sent Skulker fleeing Danny felt oddly relaxed. The tired relief he usually felt upon finishing a fight was oddly absent, but in its place was a kind of euphoria. He supposed it was the after-affects of adrenaline, now that he was ‘safe’ and out of the earlier situation.  
Danny touched down to the sidewalk, letting his posture slump a little. As he moved his chest he found that it didn’t hurt so much anymore. Looking down the front of the black jumpsuit he was wearing, alarm spiked into his heart as he saw a thick coating of ectoplasm all the way to the suit’s knees. It was still far from drying and dripped slowly onto the concrete he stood on. Danny felt around his chest for the wound frantically, and under the ectoplasm he eventually found a tear in the material of the suit, but no gash. The black-haired teen sighed in relief. This was yet another time where he was incredibly glad that he could heal faster than humans.  
Closing his eyes wearily, Danny tried to conjure up the feeling of static shock that meant his transformation to human was taking place. He waited a minute, two minutes, but nothing happened. A feeling of dread coiled in his guts, rising up to choke him with panic. This had never happened to him before. Squeezing his eyes shut harder, Danny pictured the tell-tale green rings surrounding him, sending that pins and needles shock through his body. A vague, prickly sort of feeling crept down his spine, and he relaxed with a relieved smile.   
Danny opened his eyes, and immediately he knew that he hadn’t transformed back. Wisps of snow-white hair hung down in front of his eyes, and everything had a slight green tinge like night vision goggles. Ectoplasm still caked the front of the torn jumpsuit.  
Danny gritted his teeth, trying to force the transformation, but there was no shock of the shift no matter how hard he tried. Gripping his chest, where his ghost core fluttered like a panicked bird, the teen crouched on the sidewalk. His breath was a panicked wheezing and tears rolled down his face despite his eyes being squeezed shut.   
It was only as dawn was breaking in the morning that Danny finally accepted that he’d never be human again.


	26. Purr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Just a lil savant par fluff for your souls  
> Genre: Fluff  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None
> 
> I just realised I never posted this chapter!! I wrote it in August!

Tucker couldn’t help but compare Danny to a cat. He wasn’t sure if all ghosts were like this (it’s not like he could get close with too many), or if it was just Danny, but man was the similarity obvious. Most of the time it was . . . pretty cute, if Tucker was honest with himself. Other times it was creepy, or all-out terrifying. Like when Danny was fighting.  
Or hungry.  
Ah well, he wouldn’t think about that now, when he was on his way to Danny’s to hang out. They’d made plans earlier in the week for the three of them, that being Danny, Sam and himself, but Sam’s parents had pulled her to some prissy rich-people event and she’d had to bail. She’d been pissed at her parents. And rightfully so, Tucker thought, because this was their first ghost-free hang out time for quite a while. Not that he could complain. With just Danny and him, they’d probably play video games the entire time. Sam was more of a movie person.  
Tucker jumped up onto the Fenton’s porch, knocking on the door quickly before letting himself in. Danny’s parents barely looked up as he walked by, simply waving in response to his, “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton.”  
The sounds of enemies being blasted was leaking into the kitchen from the living room. Tucker followed it, although he didn’t have to go far and he knew FentonWorks by heart anyway. Danny was sitting on the couch as Tucker walked into the living room, the freckled teen leaning forward in his seat, the tip of his tongue stuck out between his teeth. His look was one of intense concentration, very human, but even sitting Danny held himself with a sort of lanky grace that was reminiscent of a cat. More of a big cat. A leopard, maybe.  
Danny’s character died suddenly in the game and he swore softly under his breath, tossing the game controller to the side lightly. It bounced once on the couch cushion and fell to the floor. Danny sighed, adjusting the galaxy-themed binder which he was wearing en lieu of a shirt. Tucker’s half-ghost friend turned to face him, smiling at seeing the dark-skinned teen standing there.  
“Hey, Tuck,” Danny greeted him enthusiastically.  
Tucker flopped down beside Danny on the couch, leaning back.  
“Hey, dude,” he responded, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “What’s up?”  
Danny shrugged, leaning down to retrieve the fallen controller. The movement was smooth, almost lazy, and he held the controller loosely between his slim fingers as he retrieved it.  
“The usual,” Danny said, dropping the controller in Tucker’s lap. “Down for a game?”  
“Always, bro,” Tucker replied with a grin as his friend grabbed a second controller and booted up the gaming system.

After many hours of bloody, action-packed gameplay, the two teens had opted for a sleepover in the basement lab of FentonWorks. Tucker might have been a little wary at sleeping down there, as he was almost certain that there was something incredibly explosive down there (or radioactive- Danny’s parents were a little mad-scientist-y from what Tucker knew of them so far). But it was definitely the coldest area of the house, by far.  
“Because it’s underground, and because the portal cools it,” Danny explained as he lay out sleeping bags for them. Tucker nodded, now eyeing the portal skeptically; another reason to be wary about sleeping here.  
Danny noticed the object of his gaze. Nodding his head toward it, he said, “It’s shut and locked up. You need a passcode to open it now.”  
Tucker sighed in relief, feeling much safer now about spending the night in such close proximity to the portal. Danny flashed him a smirk, striking a heroic pose.  
“Not that you’d need to be afraid.” The half-ghost threw an exaggerated wink in Tucker’s direction. “Not when I’m here with you.”  
The darker teen snorted, trying to hide his blush behind amusement. Grinning, Tucker threw a pillow at his friend, who looked ridiculous anyway. Danny had donned a slightly frayed, baggy sweatshirt for the night after he’d taken off his binder, and the way it hung on his frame as he’d struck the pose made him look like a child playing pretend as a hero.  
Danny mock-pouted, crossing his arms across his chest. The too-long sleeves of the gray sweatshirt still hung just beyond the edges of his fingers, making Danny look as if he had the soft paws of a kitten. When Tucker smiled next, he knew that his expression was a little dopey, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  
“Aw, come here, dude,” Tucker said with a snort, holding out his arms.  
Danny hesitated for a second, and Tucker’s heart dropped. He’d made a terrible mistake, hadn’t he? His smile started to falter, but before it could fall from his face completely, his half-ghost friend flung himself into Tucker’s lap. Well, he was floating just above Tucker, but it was close enough. The dark-skinned teen hadn’t even noticed that his friend had shifted into his ghost half, but the silvery-white hair and cat-like green eyes were unmistakable proof.  
Danny hovered, his face shoved delicately into a pillow and his spectral tail swishing back and forth like . . . well, like a contented cat. Even the way he sprawled in the air, as if he were laying on some solid surface, had a feline air to it. Tucker smiled, running his fingers through Danny’s fluffy white hair, somehow making it even messier than it had been before. He was just starting to drift off to sleep, propped up by his elbow which was resting on a pillow, when-  
“Dude, are you purring?” Tucker asked incredulously, opening his eyes again.  
Danny’s response was muffled by the pillow that his face was still buried in, and his words had a faint sleepy slur.  
“Nuh-uh,” the halfa protested.  
The light rumbling feeling under Tucker’s fingers had stopped. He swore it had been there a moment before, but maybe it had just been a trick of his sleepy mind. He’d have to stop mentally comparing Danny to a cat all the time, it was definitely affecting him weirdly. Tucker sighed faintly, smiling, and resumed running his fingers through Danny’s hair. That ghost tail of Danny’s had wrapped itself lazily around Tucker’s arm. It wasn’t restricting his movement, but it was a little odd, even though he could barely feel its weight. It was loosening slowly as Danny fell asleep, and Tucker could’ve sworn . . .  
And there it was again. Tucker grinned, resting his fingers atop Danny’s head but ceasing their movement through his hair. The half-ghost was purring. Oh, he was never going to hear the end of this.


	27. Wolf Bites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Danny has to deal with his humanity, which seems to become less and less every day  
> Rating: Low T for some very mild gore, throwing up, etc.  
> Warnings: might be taken as cannibalism, Dermatophagia/wolf-biting, throwing up, mild gore

Danny couldn’t remember when it had started, exactly. If it had been something which developed, it had developed quickly and early on, sneaking into his habits like tendrils of ivy.  
If he was to be more exact, Danny couldn’t remember a time when he’d been without it. Some of his earliest memories were of short, sharp pains in his mouth and fingers, of small trickles of blood and blisters of dead skin. It had never really been something he’d thought about. It was just something that happened when he was bored, when his body was idle; his teeth would bite away at his lip or his nail beds, and he’d barely even notice it was happening. The pain of it dulled over the years, so that even when Danny got to the point where his mouth would fill with the salty, coppery taste it would leave him surprised. He’d look up from a book, pause a video game, tear himself away from a school lesson to think, when had he broken the skin? If he ran his tongue over the inside of lip, he could feel the blisters and scabs already starting to form. The uneven texture left something like an itch under his skin, so Danny could barely restrain himself from biting away at what was left there.  
It had gotten bad for awhile. Danny had left smears of slightly watery blood on his schoolwork, on tables, even on his clothes. It disturbed him a little to see the orangey-red smudges so often. But over time he’d gotten a little more controlled with it, or maybe just a little more skilled at hiding it, and soon enough the blood which had been not uncommon to see disappeared from paper and cloth. Danny had thought, then, that he could control it enough to stop. He was quite old enough to know that it was abnormal, who else did he know who chewed off their own skin? It had been fine for awhile, and although he never really stopped, he hadn’t drawn blood for months. Even though he’d come close too many times to count.  
Almost a year after The Accident was when it snowballed into starting up again. It had gotten bad as soon as his ghost fangs started growing in, the sharp canines in his mouth really not helping to not break the skin of his lips. Danny had even started chewing at the skin on his fingers again, something he’d not done for months. It was back to the daily that he drew blood, the hotness of it flowing over his tongue from his split lip or trickling down his sore, bruised fingers. The sudden surge of what might be christened ‘ghost puberty’ left him clutching at the last straws of his humanity with increasing stress, and the satisfying rip of skin with the taste of blood helped ease that anxiety, like drinking from an oasis when one had been lost in the desert for a long, long time.  
It was a blow to his confidence every time that he looked in the mirror; a small gust of fear which breezed through the windows of his heart. With the large, dark circles under his eyes, his scabbed knuckles, the fangs in his mouth which were so often smeared with blood, it was like seeing a premonition of some almost-human ghoul. Just lacking the sense of life it would need to fit in, it might shamble around like some horribly sick creature through a thick daze. Danny often had to fight back tears at the sense of discouragement it gave him, seeing himself as some odd, twisted creature. The sense of deja-vu he got in these moments twisted his stomach into knots every time.  
He’d always thought his ghost half would get to him like this some day. He hated it, he hated the ice-cold core he could feel constantly, thrumming softly in time to his heartbeat. It was like a race, where the winner would double back on the other to consume them. Danny knew, in some repressed part of his mind, that the winner would one day be the frosty ghost core he so hated. The answer was obvious, although disheartening, and the only real question Danny wasn’t sure of was simply how long. Thinking of the time when he’d get the answer, when he’d feel that spectral core expanding to push out the last of his warmth one final time; it filled him with dread.  
There was a soft glow illuminating Danny’s face, his fingers moving quickly over his phone’s screen, and it was just such a time when his mind was most idle. He should have been paying more attention, he’d think later, but in the moment it was too late and Danny felt something that made him freeze with sick repulsion. His fingers ceased their swift motions on the screen, his game stopping suddenly as the character he’d been playing died. As per usual, Danny hadn’t even noticed what should have been a sharp pain of a ghostly fang piercing the skin on his lip. This had become such a usual occurrence that he might not even have noticed a trickle of hot blood being washed into the back of his throat, except for the fact that it was so different.   
It wasn’t blood this time.  
As he’d broken the skin on the inside of his mouth, what poured forth from the small wound had not been hot. It lacked the salty tang of blood, and Danny never thought he’d experience the moment where he felt a pang of mourning for the warm licked-a-penny taste.  
The foreign substance that flooded his mouth had been cool, cold even, and although it still had a slightly salty edge it was notably bitter. Danny’s stomach churned as it trickled sluggishly over his tongue, his throat spasming as he swallowed it in an almost instinctive gulp. It was disgusting. It had a too-thick, gritty texture, as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of freezing mud. Bile rose up in the back of Danny’s throat. The hot, burning sensation it induced was an almost welcome opposite to the chilly liquid still slowly filling his mouth.   
The young teen stood quickly and ran to the bathroom, his breaths coming quickly and jaggedly, his hand clamped over his mouth. Although it inhibited his already laboured breathing, the heaving of his chest was prompting him even closer to throwing up.   
In the dim lighting of the bathroom, Danny saw that the multitude of bruises, scrapes and marks on his hands were glowing softly. Acid green light threw both the tendons and the scars on his hands into lightly emphasized relief, making them look sickly and pale. Almost . . . dead. The sight of the faint phosphorescence was the final thing that Danny’s stomach could take; barely leaning over the toilet, his stomach emptied with a nearly painful heave.  
Panting miserably, Danny kneeled on the tile floor. His eyes were glued to the inside of the ceramic bowl as he threw up again, the bile from his stomach thick and swirled throughout with the same glowing substance that lit up the wounds on his hands. Slimy liquid dripped down Danny’s chin as he started to cry, hiccuping, each small spasm bringing stinging acid into the back of is throat. He felt cold, so cold, like the chill was in his very veins and heart. It seemed odd but so not odd all at once that he was mourning the loss of his blood. To him, he was mourning the loss of his humanity. The last thing that had bound him to it, the thing that had kept his heart pumping and his body warm.  
With a nearly paralyzing feeling of panic rising up within him, choking out his lungs, Danny pressed one hand to his chest. He was searching frantically for the beat of his heart, but all he could feel was the thrumming of the ghost core, so much faster now than it had ever been. A ball of tightly curled panic had lodged itself into Danny’s throat before he finally found what his fingers had been searching for.   
A soft pulse still beat in his chest, but it seemed softer and slower than before. As if the gooey substance that ran through his veins now had poisoned it, making it weaker and weaker, like a dying bird fluttering its wings in vain. The faint throbbing under Danny’s fingertips felt like the ticking of an ominous clock, one that is counting down to some horribly inevitable event.  
Danny bit into the pad of his thumb, the stress which was winding around his heart easing a little at the slow gush of green liquid issuing from the wound. He worried at his thumb like a dog with a bone, unaware or uncaring of the luminescent liquid that was being smeared across his face and running down his wrist to drip onto the floor in thick splatters. Each sluggish pulse of his heart sent a fresh wave of it, a new flush of the gritty, bitter taste between Danny’s teeth.  
All he could do was wait.


	28. Addictive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: If you can't cut it out, starve it out  
> Rating: Low T  
> Warnings: A bit of vomiting, not too graphic, bulimia (kinda?), anorexia
> 
> (I realise the description sounds like self-harm, but it's not supposed to)

It had been awhile since Danny had felt hungry.   
This wasn’t in a measure of minutes, or hours- or even days. It was a in a measure of weeks, maybe months. He didn’t really like to think about it.   
It had started up slowly enough; foods that he hadn’t exactly loved started to become intolerable to him, the taste gross and the texture nausea-inducing. He’d assumed in the beginning that this was just a product of being in his mid-teen years. Everything was weird, and weren’t his taste buds supposed to change anyway?   
But as the food ‘intolerances’ continued, Danny began to fearfully suspect that it was a problem.   
His friends and parent quickly became concerned as he went from scarfing down everything he could, with mannerisms similar to a starving wild animal, to barely making a dent in whatever he was given. For a family meal or two, generic excuses seemed to work to get his family off his back.   
“I’m just not that hungry” or “I’m actually feeling kind of sick” allowed him concerned looks and an excuse to escape to his bedroom to lie down for the rest of the night, eyes trained on the glow-in-the-dark stars taped to his ceiling but not really focusing on them.   
Danny knew, in a way that he couldn’t quite define, that he was still hungry. It wasn’t quite the growl of an empty stomach, it was something much less physical but much more driving. It was an itch under his skin, a weakness in his limbs, a shaking in his hands whenever his ghost sense went off. If ever he was in the basement, near the portal, where he could feel its chill, his mouth filled with a cool sort of ache.

He watched the portal with a concentrated gaze, completely still in the middle of the room. It was on, but for some reason he couldn’t remember turning it on. It swirled and pulsed softly in an almost galaxy-looking pattern, the lairs of ghosts living within appearing as glistening silver dots that would probably appear to be stars to an unknowing viewer. To an outsider, it was probably a beautiful scene.  
To Danny, it was horror.  
He’d suddenly come to his senses, the itch under his skin gone for the first time in weeks. There was a chill in his throat, on his tongue, on his hands. In the dim lighting of the Fenton’s basement, Danny could see a slick green ooze coating his hands and smeared down the front of his shirt. He’d recognize it anywhere: ectoplasm. He could see something scattered across the floor in front of him in chunks and bits and splashes of acid green, but he didn’t want to think about that too much.  
He felt sick, and although he was nearly trying to get himself to throw up, his body wouldn’t let him. Danny lay on the bathroom floor, his cheek pressed against the cool tile. He could hear his wheezing breath echoing in his ears all night.

The next morning, he forced himself to eat a plain piece of toast. The texture was too dry, too gritty, the taste too bland by far and the heat of it burning his mouth and throat. Despite all of this, he relished in it. Danny felt like he was burning away the horror of the night before. But his happiness about this would be forced to be short-lived.   
He threw up the toast in painful, acidic burps. His salty tears made soft plops on the tiled bathroom floor. 

Danny hadn’t been to school for almost a week. When he hadn’t eaten anything and been able to keep it down for three days, his parents had taken him to the doctor’s office. They’d found nothing wrong with him, necessarily, but told Danny’s parents to let him rest for another week or even two. And that’s what he was doing.  
Danny was good at keeping his secrets. His friends had multitudes that they told him, and he’d never spoken a word of those to anybody. He himself had plenty, even some that he’d never told Sam or Tucker, and most which he’d never told his parents.   
This one little thing was just another on the list.  
There was an itch under his skin again, worse than it had ever been before, but Danny refused to do anything to soothe it. He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, his eyes blank. Some part of him knew that what he was doing was futile. His ghost half would always be a part of him, logic argued, and no amount of starving would make it leave.  
But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.  
Danny was sure he looked like something of a ghoul or zombie. He’d run his hands over his chest a million times a day, obsessively, feeling his ribs, feeling the beating of his heart. He’d tried to eat some toast again today and he’d thrown it up. The effort of expelling it almost made him pass out.  
There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was almost deathly pale. Danny frightened himself half to death when he looked in the mirror; he thought that he was looking more and more like his ghost half each day. But he didn’t care. Holding one emaciated hand to his thin chest, he knew that as long as he could feel the heartbeat from within he’d be okay.   
When two weeks had passed with no improvement, Danny’s parents took him to the hospital. Standing out of bed felt like an enormous strain on the teen, who looked more like a skeleton than anything else. His joints creaked as he moved with the slow, arthritic gait of an old man down the stairs from his bedroom.   
He kept both hands clasped over his heart as his parents helped him slowly into the emergency room. His heart fluttered weakly beneath his palms. Danny knew, deep down, that all he was doing now was killing himself slowly. He could feel his ghost half eating away at whatever little living conscious he had left. But he was in too deep to care. The doctors would check him over and proclaim some nonsense that wouldn’t help him at all. In his addiction to denying himself what he needed to keep up his half-life, he was letting his ghost half take over. Danny had always suspected that it would ensnare him one day, much too soon, and he’d warp into the inhuman monster he’d always feared he would.   
Danny’s heart fluttered. His head spun.  
His painful addiction would soon pull him down into darkness.


	29. Say it's Not So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description: Something's up with Valerie and her; Dani will assume the worst . . .   
> Rating: G ?? ?  
> Warnings: V v mild violence

The afternoon was a calm one. Valerie lifted her jar of iced coffee to her lips, sipping at the lightly sweetened beverage as she turned a page in her book with a soft rustle. There was a blanket tucked around her hips, in a very casual way, making obvious the fact that the woman wasn’t cold but rather trying to be more comfortable.  
As peaceful as Valerie appeared, inside her heart and mind were in turmoil. She was really just turning pages in the book aimlessly, although the charade could be for no one but herself since she lived alone. The coffee that she was sipping wasn’t helping to calm her nerves at all, as she’d hoped it would, although she knew better. It was only making her more edgy. Valerie felt restlessness picking at her muscles, urging her to move or do something, but she didn’t want to leave the apartment.  
After all, if Valerie left, there was too much of a chance she’d run into her.  
The doorbell rang, the suddenness of it not being enough to startle Valerie from her reverie. Her body moved on autopilot to the door while her mind still floated a thousand miles away. There was no curiosity in the curly-haired woman, even though she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and if she were to look back on the scene later maybe she’d admit to herself that this was because she expected the person who turned up. In some way, she’d anticipated this arrival.  
In the moment, Valerie’s hand closed around the doorknob and turned it. The handle seemed a little chillier than usual, and a slight shiver ran down Valerie’s spine as the door swung open. The small chill had been like a glimpse at the future, a telling of who was waiting patiently (or not so) for the absent-minded woman in the apartment to open her door.   
Valerie immediately focused on familiar wide eyes, their rounded shape and the curve of the lashes something which was imprinted into her memory. But in a heart-jarring moment of strangeness, Valerie had no way of avoiding the fact that Danielle’s eyes were acid green. Considering the not exactly private setting, this could leave only a deep confusion in Valerie’s mind. Dani had always been so careful, always making sure that no one would see her too closely, or see her transform. She was much more careful than her twin, Danny, in some ways.  
Not a word had been exchanged between the two as of yet, and Valerie barely had time to note the sharp, almost panicky edge to Dani’s breathing before she was shoved backwards into her apartment. Although normally her above-average reflexes would have been able to prevent her from falling, the surprise of the sudden push caught Valerie off guard and she hit the ground hard, feeling a carpet burn scrape her palms. The door closed quietly, which paired with the aggressive shove gave the situation an eerily surreal feeling.  
Dani didn’t make any noise at all as she moved, and it didn’t take Valerie long to realize that this was because the half-ghost was floating just an inch or two above the ground. The white hair of the small woman was incredibly messy, even a little tangled despite its fine texture. Dani’s eyes seemed unusually bright and glittery. As she sniffed sharply, it came to Valerie with a jolt that she must be holding back tears.  
“You’ve been- you’ve been avoiding me,” Dani said quietly, her words breaking several times and sounding a little distorted, as if she were having trouble speaking.   
Valerie shook her head silently as words seemed to fail her. The dark-skinned woman tried to push herself up from the ground, but an intense look from Dani’s brilliant green eyes left her leaning back on bruised palms on the floor.   
“It’s obvious, Valerie! You haven’t answered my calls or texts for days, I haven’t seen you at work, I haven’t seen you patrolling! What is this for you, some kind of game?!” Dani choked out suddenly, her voice unsteady from the heavy emotions lacing her words.   
Pushing herself back slightly, Valerie fervently shook her head again. Her own eyes were starting to feel hot and prickly, the beginnings of tears which she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back for very long.  
“Dani, no-”  
“Or maybe I scare you, Valerie. Is that it? Are you uncomfortable around me, because of what I am?” Dani continued on as if Valerie had never spoken at all, tears openly dripping down the face of the white-haired woman. Her voice grew louder as she spoke. “I didn’t ask for this! I never wanted to be made! I tried to fit in, but- but-”  
Dani’s chest was heaving, her breathing becoming too ragged and uneven for her to continue speaking. She was now biting her lip hard enough that a tiny trickle of gooey ectoplasm was dripping down her face, mixing slowly with the tears until the diluted mixture fell from the halfa’s chin. There was so much pain and grief in her softly luminescent eyes that Valerie’s heart ached, a new crack seeming to split the air around the two woman every time another sob erupted from Dani’s lips, as if the whole scene were made of glass.  
Valerie made another attempt to stand, gathering only enough confidence to crouch in the spot she’d earlier been leaning back on. She reached out a hand towards Dani slowly, her fingers shaking, tears starting to fall softly from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold in that tide.  
“Dani . . .”  
There was a moment of complete silence, then with a scream Dani shot a condensed ball of ectoplasmic energy towards Valerie. The curly-haired woman rolled out of the way, and the blast of electric-y energy exploded against the floor. Scorch marks singed the blue carpet. Finally pushing herself all the way up, Valerie watched Dani slump and sob brokenly with resolve. The last traces of fear that might have been lingering before were completely gone now. Slowly, as if approaching a feral animal, Valerie walked over to Dani, her hand outstretched. The half-ghost didn’t move at all as Valerie placed a hand on her shoulder.  
“Dani . . . I’ll admit . . . I- I have been avoiding you . . .” Valerie said slowly, a little hesitantly, but in a strong voice and with determination in her watery eyes. She felt Dani tense under the hand that Valerie had placed on her shoulder, but the darker woman didn’t move her hand.  
“But it’s not for the reason that you think.”  
“Then why?” Dani whispered, her voice hoarse and sounding so sorrowful that Valerie’s breath hitched in her throat and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She could almost physically feel the smaller woman’s wanting for it to be true, for Valerie to explain it all away. To say that it wasn’t so.  
“Because . . . because . . .” Valerie fumbled the words, swallowing heavily and feeling a weight like a stone lodge itself in her stomach as she did so. Her heart was pounding and her mouth felt dry, and oh god, how was she going to say this?  
“Spit it out,” hissed Dani, hurt still flickering in her acid green eyes as a new batch of tears pooled in their corners. Her desperate hope was starting to make its serpentine path back to anger.  
“Because I, I like you,” Valerie mumbled finally, then seemed to gain courage as soon as the words left her mouth. “Danielle . . . I think I love you.”  
Dani turned suddenly to face Valerie. The halfa seemed to have been shocked completely speechless, her tears completely dried for at least a moment and her mouth hanging open.  
“I was worried about how you’d react, and yeah, I was kind of being counterproductive and pushing you away anyway, but I just . . . I mean, I can’t help it,” Valerie rambled on, the blush that had been building slowly in her cheeks growing hotter with every word that fell from her mouth. The dark-skinned woman looked helplessly at Dani, her throat still impossible dry from nerves. It had seemed like it had been going fine, until Dani had turned to face her.  
This is it, Valerie thought. You’re going to lose her.  
But her train of thought was blissfully interrupted by soft, cool lips on hers. Valerie took in a short, sharp breath of surprise, then wrapped the halfa floating in front of her in strong arms. As she broke the kiss, lightly stroking Dani’s hair, she murmured, “I’m sorry Dani, I really am . . .”  
Dani didn’t respond, simply nuzzling her head into Valerie’s shoulder and holding onto her tightly. Valerie was quiet for a moment, then she began to hum softly to the woman she held in her arms, still stroking her snow-white hair softly.   
It might take a million more apologies, but Valerie felt that everything would be okay now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably really sudden, but this is most likely the last chapter in this book. I'm just not so much in the Danny Phantom fandom anymore, and I don't have as much motivation to write (I also have very little time to write, with school and my job). I'm leaving it open, as there may be updates every once in a awhile, but don't expect them or anything
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys so much for sticking with me through this book! For my first real piece of kinda-published writing it's doing so much better than I expected. I can't believe I'm over 1500 reads, and at almost 70 kudos. Thank you all, seeing those kinds of things as well as your guys' comments brightens my day
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy what writing I have previously published in this book. And if you also like Gravity Falls, I may possible post a book of one shots for that fandom!
> 
> Thanks again!!


	30. An Update On Updates

Hey y'all! I've actually been getting back into the Danny Phantom fandom just a bit, so I'm going to be writing at least one more one-shot specially for PhannieMay, with an idea I've had stewing for a month or two. I hope you guys can still get excited about an update!


	31. "Ghosts Don't Bleed"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper and Mabel come across more than they bargained for when they go out into the forest at night
> 
> Word count: About 1,340 or so  
> Rating: Low T, just a tiny bit of blood (ectoplasm)  
> Genre: ? dunno, it's just a little Danny Phantom/Gravity Falls crossover

Dipper reached his hands out to his sister to help her up from where she’d fallen. There was a small scrape on the back of her leg, and damp pine needles stuck in her curly hair. She looked a little dazed.  
“You okay?” Dipper asked, but while there was some concern in his face and in his tone, he also seemed very distracted. He seemed to be almost buzzing with some sort of energy.  
Mabel nodded and smiled to show that she was fine, brushing the clinging pine needles from her hair. Although she was a little interested in the events that had just transpired, she wasn’t as invested as her twin brother. Plus she’d hit her head when she’d fallen. Mabel didn’t think it was a bad bump, but it was still a little concerning nonetheless.  
Dipper had been out on one of his usual cryptid hunts, and had managed to encourage Mabel into joining him on this one. It was a particularly damp and foggy evening, giving the whole woods around the Mystery Shack an even more eerie vibe than they usually had. Then, just a few minutes ago, what looked like a boy just a few years older than her and Dipper had wandered across their path. He didn’t notice the two at first, even as he looked around, biting his lip with a worried expression on his face. It was only as he turned to fully face the twins that he realized for the first time that they were there.  
There had been a weird flash of bright green light, and then the boy had suddenly become a spectre-like figure with pure white hair and luminescent acid-green eyes. Dipper had very obviously panicked, letting out a small shout and throwing his flashlight at the- ghost? Boy? Whatever he had been. The white-haired spectre had then flinched, putting out a small pulse of electricity as he fled. A couple droplets of a thick, glowing green substance had dripped onto the carpet of pine needles on the ground as he flew away. Dipper had seemed fine, but Mabel had been knocked over by the energy pulse. And now there they were.  
“What do you think that was?” Dipper asked Mabel excitedly, flipping through the journal he held in his hands. “Grunkle Ford hasn’t documented anything like that before!”  
“I dunno, bro-bro, but he was kinda cute,” Mabel responded in a slightly joking tone.   
Dipper rolled his eyes, shutting the journal he was holding.   
“I think it was a . . . a ghost,” Dipper said after a short pause, leaning over to pick up his flashlight from the ground.  
“No way! I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t bleed.” Mabel picked the last of the pine needles out of her hair, flicking it onto the ground.   
“What?”   
“Y’know . . . that green stuff that fell onto the ground. It’s, like, blood.”  
“Whatever. We should follow it!” Cried Dipper, pointing into the distance vaguely with the heavy flashlight in his hand.   
Mabel made a skeptical face, but followed her brother into the misty woods as he set off anyway. The sun was starting to go down, sending blood-red beams through the swirling mist that was gradually getting lower to the ground. Dipper clicked on the bright flashlight, sweeping it from side to side in front of the twins. The journal was tucked safely under his arm, and Mabel could see that he was getting that determined expression he always had once he’d really set his mind to something.  
“Dip . . . I don’t think we should be out after dark,” Mabel said a little nervously, listening to the sound of some animal crying out in the distance.  
“Mabel, it’s fine. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll find this ghost boy soon,” Dipper responded, his look far away as he scanned between the trees. Mabel shuffled a bit closer to him, her breath fogging a little in the cool dusk air.   
Just then, something moved near a juniper bush to their right. Dipper jumped a little, swinging the beam of the flashlight around to the bush. A pair of eyes reflected back silvery in its light. The twins both froze, Mabel whispering “I told you so” repeatedly under her breath like a chant.   
There were several moments of frozen silence, then the eyes moved as the boy from earlier stepped out of the bush. The soft breeze stirred his white hair and his eyes glowed in the darkness, an almost creepy fluorescent green. He squinted at the twins for a second or two, frowning lightly. Mabel quickly noticed that he didn’t seem to be injured anymore.  
“Uh . . . how old are you guys?” He asked, and Mabel couldn’t help but feel relieved at how normal his voice sounded, just like any other teenage boy. His lanky frame almost reminded her of Robbie.   
Dipper looked like he was starting to get defensive, so Mabel cut in before he could speak.   
“We’re thirteen,” she blurted.   
There was another pause, then the boy spoke again.  
“Don’t you guys think that you should be inside, now that it’s dark? I haven’t even been here one night and I can already tell that it’s not a great place for kids to be walking around. ‘Specially at night.”   
“We’ve been here a long time! We know our way around,” Dipper retorted. Mabel sighed. She’d been right; Dipper was getting defensive. She put a hand on his shoulder.   
“Calm down, bro-bro. He’s just tryin’ to help us.”   
The white-haired boy nodded, rubbing his hands over his face afterwards in a slightly exasperated gesture.   
“Uh . . . there was a little cabin awhile back . . . I could get you guys about that far, but then I gotta go,” the older teen said, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “Come on.”   
He started walking ahead. The boy’s pace was fast, but it wasn’t too fast for Dipper and Mabel to keep up with. Dipper stayed quiet for the whole walk, alternately flipping through the journal he held in his hands, muttering to himself, and squinting at the teen with suspicion. Mabel rolled her eyes to herself. He was definitely being ridiculous.   
Speeding up her pace a little so she could walk beside the white-haired teen, Mabel looked up at him curiously.   
“What’s your name?” She asked, her voice as bright as usual and completely devoid of the suspicion that Dipper was obviously showing.   
“It’s, uh- Danny,” the teen said after a moment of hesitation, glancing over his shoulder again. His eyes widened slightly, and he muttered something quickly under his breath. Danny stopped, leaving Dipper and Mabel to walk a few steps before they caught on and stopped as well. Leaving the younger teens behind him, Danny let the slight shock that came with firing up his powers go through him.   
A dark form stepped out of the shadows of the forest, holding a pistol-like weapon in front of him. The Pines twins recognized the red turtleneck and chipped glasses immediately.   
“Grunkle Ford!” They yelled in unison, Dipper surprisingly being the first to run out from behind Danny.   
“Kids? Are you alright?” Stanford Pines looked at the twins as they came over to him, pointing the weapon he was holding away from him but not lowering it.   
“We’re fine! Danny helped us!” Mabel turned back to the teen who’d been leading them through the forest, but he was gone by the time she looked. The only trace of him left was a couple drops of some thick, slightly glowing green substance on the ground. Mabel looked around in confusion.   
“Oh- where’d he go?”   
“Must’ve flown off,” Ford said, finally lowering his weapon to his side. “Kids, you shouldn’t have gone wandering off like that at night. There’s a lot in these woods that you don’t know of yet, and you could get hurt.”   
“Grunkle Ford, what was that- thing?” Dipper asked, his eyes fixed on the spattered drops that glowed on the ground.   
“Probably a ghost."  
"But ghosts don't bleed."   
Mabel looked at the drops on the ground and rolled her eyes. Apparently this one did.


End file.
